where the liversausage grows,
there
lives a grimmerswack
with hair all long and dressed in black.
He
doesn't wash, or take a bath,
he sits
alone beside his hearth.
Beside
that crackling hellish fire
he makes
little dolls of wood and wire,
figures
of fun, like you and me
and he sticks heaps of pins in
tee hee hee!
He hangs them in the trees
from their toes,
and they
rattle like bones
when the wind blows.
I went to see him
to tell him to stop,
but he's hard to find,
he runs
from me,
trippety hop.
He
grumbles and grunts,
he must be
heard,
I can't
think, or talk,
not one word.
I must get rid
of this
mean little elf,
but I've come to like him,
he's
like myself.
CJ 2010