Dexery-tethery! down in the dike, <br />Under the ooze and the slime, <br />Nestles the wraith of a reticent Gryke, <br />Blubbering bubbles of rhyme: <br />Though the reeds touch him and tickle his teeth-- <br />Though the Graigroll and the Cheest <br />Pluck at the leaves of his laureate-wreath, <br />Nothing affects him the least. <br /> <br />He sinks to the dregs in the dead o' the night, <br />And he shuffles the shadows about <br />As he gathers the stars in a nest of delight <br />And sets there and hatches them out: <br />The Zhederrill peers from his watery mine <br />In scorn with the Will-o'-the-wisp, <br />As he twinkles his eyes in a whisper of shine <br />That ends in a luminous lisp. <br /> <br />The Morning is born like a baby of gold, <br />And it lies in a spasm of pink, <br />And rallies the Cheest for the horrible cold <br />He has dragged to the willowy brink, <br />The Gryke blots his tears with a scrap of his grief, <br />And growls at the wary Graigroll <br />As he twunkers a tune on a Tiljicum leaf <br />And hums like a telegraph pole.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-wrangdillion/
