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An older and officious elf, Was looking very glum, “Alas, my stores are empty, Of antweed and sweet gum”. The healer ticked down the list, His disappointment clear, “The apprentices will use it up, And never tell, I fear. For winter comes, and we shall need Herbs of every kind, To inhibit cold convulsions, And to ease those here confined.” But then he stops, and looks about, More than a bit perturbed, “My stars, the maid has yet to clean!” Yes, clearly hes disturbed. “The towels arent folded, The jars have specks of dust!” And off he storms to fetch the maid, Huffing in disgust. The hapless maiden enters, And begins to clean the mess, She wipes the errant specks of dust, Her laxity redressed. The healer now sits down to think On stockpiles and stores, He peers in jars of wilted leaves And mushrooms and black spores. “That dratted young Nethordur, Has spoiled another batch!” He cries, and stalks him down, The young one clear outmatched. “Sir, look at these mushrooms! Youve opened them too soon! Youve let in air, and see, look there, Theyve rotted into ruin!” He looks about despairingly, “Tis chaos!” he‘ll exclaim. “For all my care and competence, Ill surely still take blame.” |
Copyright © 2003 Wendy Zinger
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