The Wold

In the slurpy, glurpy darkness;
In the mire and the mold;
Where the snurkles slide and slither
Deep beneath the ancient wold;
There the humps are always howling
Through the night and through the day
At the gloabs that go on gloaming
Just before they melt away.

There are dangers on the wold there!
You can feel it in the night,
But they’re buried in the ground there,
Buried out of human sight.
Yet the snurkles nightly creep up
From their caverns in the heath,
And they hunt their prey in darkness
While they click their clacking teeth.

I feel hopeful on the wold here,
Though you might only fear.
There’s a light in every darkness,
And for me it’s bright and clear.
There’s a song in every shadow.
There’s a hope in every night.
And though the wold is darkened,
I will hope for morning’s light.

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