The World of Layonara
The Layonara Community => Poetic License => Topic started by: Nuzatch on October 26, 2004, 12:53:00 AM
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I Bolero, have been cursed
Rhyming seems to be my thirst,
And though it seems that I am toying,
It's very serious and quite annoying,
For I cannot speak unless I rhyme,
And it becomes bothersome from time to time
But should you see me in Layo
Be not shy and give a friendly "Hello"
For should I hear your friendly greeting,
I'll look forward to our meeting.
The only time that I'm not worried,
About rhyming, is when I'm telling stories,
For there are some stories too great to tell,
With a metered voice and rhythmic bell,
So if in fact, I'm not Rhyming,
Gather round for story timing,
And though I seem the stereotypical Bard,
Rhyming is actually very hard,
So if and when you hear my name,
You'll know rhyming is synonomous with Willinsbane.
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Twas a great dwarf by the name of Gloin,
He enjoyed going to, in his accent, "The Moin"
For platinums, silvers, Irons and Gold
Were what his favorite mines would hold.
There was a day he went for Platinum,
And trolls just kept coming at him,
And through fang and tooth and nail and claw,
He bravely fought and fell them all.
And after much battle and deliberation,
It was time for some celebration,
Twas time to reap his just reward,
A thousand pounds of Platinum ore
But as he reached into his pack he began to look sick,
For poor 'ol Gloin had forgot his pick.