‘Twas dusk and the air clight
As wind flowled around the flicicles.
Babbits abounded, brabbling as they skudged through the snice,
Woxes hidden behind bevergreens.
 
Fallind from the pack, a lone Babbit,
Sheltering a babbing.
Silently crinking after the Babbit,
A Wox sprang from above.
 
Frozen in its paws, a Babbit’s body,
Scade eyes turning lifeless at the Wox.
Its blood flained the powdery snice
And smovered strong jaws of the Wox.
 
Raising its brey muzzle from the dead Babbit,
Dempty orbs surveyed the quiet forest.
But a sliniscule movement caught the gaze of the Wox
And spound its next victim, a baby Babbit.