Series of Poems #6

Bert fumbled the egg.
Suddenly lightning flashed red.
Colors became neg.



EEEP! Ooops, oh no, I must retrieve the egg.
The roar shook Bert so much, it even shook my steel legs.
Bidoop, the only person Bert knows who can hurt Bert,
Is my almighty powerful master Khrushchev.
With one fell swoop of his staff, he can turn me into fragments, kihoosh.
Then he'll disintegrate my ions with a deluge.
Bzzp burt, this looks like one mighty deep crag.
Who knows? Inside might be a helpful mystical hag.



Abraham, my grandfather, killed by American Natives,
Great chief Gogo Galloping Gorrilla scalped his head.
(It is awkward I do not wish him dead.)
Neighbors told me this tale.
And they have told me others fables of much greater scale.
They say they've spotted, dragons, goblins and other creatures too.
I believe these stories to all be poo.



I, Satan, glide through the rye field eyeing the dragon of light.
I won't lose him out of sight, for I too desire dominion over the egg tonight.
The right to power should only be in the hands of great minds.
Because they know how to judge the boundary lines,
The boundary lines of how much of this power to dine on
Of course, even Machiavelli knew the limited might a king should don.



Damn this robot fool that dropped the egg, mule!
The abyss is too deep for me to peep,
And see where the egg has landed stranded.
I'll have to wait for him to get the egg,
Then I'll snatch it and bite off his two legs.



Another
Quest is
At

Rest
'nless the
Egg is wrecked