The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon <br />And wistfully gazed on the sea <br />Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune <br />To the air of 'Ti-fol-de-ding-dee.' <br />The quavering shriek of the Fly-up-the-creek <br />Was fitfully wafted afar <br />To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek <br />With the pulverized rays of a star. <br /> <br />The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig, <br />And his heart it grew heavy as lead <br />As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wing <br />On the opposite side of his head, <br />And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill <br />Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies, <br />And plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill <br />To pick the tears out of his eyes. <br /> <br />The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance, <br />And the Squidjum hid under a tub <br />As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance <br />With a rub-a-dub--dub-a-dub--dub! <br />And the Crankadox cried, as he lay down and died, <br />'My fate there is none to bewail,' <br />While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide <br />With a long piece of crape to her tail.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/craqueodoom/
