Description: Maggie Mubbin was a simple witch so lonely and so poor,
Who lived in the hilly hills of the hardly known Hills of Hardly Moor
On starry nights, the most dreamy of nights, under the Plum and Periwinkle Sky,
Maggie would sigh a wish, her most wishful wish, with a wistful heart and wistful eye,
"O' Pumpkin Moon, will there ever be more, can there ever be more, than just me, myself and I?"
For the lonely-hearted witch Maggie Mubbin's only ever companions,
Were her three pet wolves, Soupçon, Pinch and the very furry Smidgen
To soothe the slight of her unhappy plight every woesome lonesome night
Maggie would bake and cook, (from Malfeasant's Magical Recipe Book),
By the wibbly wobbly melancholy creeping candle light
Maggie was known wide and far and far and wide for her crumbly crust fingerpie
A gruesome pastry! A ghastly pastry! With no nutritional value for the likes of you and I!
Now in all the Rumpled King's Lands, including Paisley Shores where the Faerie Wood stands, no one loved more such an unpopular pastry
Than that beggar and bum, a vagabond werewolf- Toussaint the Teethy
That homeless hobo, a harmless huckster, were a notorious slug and slacker,
Toussaint the Teethy were a lycanthrope lout, a lump and a lazy-bones bachelor
When that shifty drifter heard rumor of such wonderfully crumbly crust fingerpies,
Toussaint scratched his greasy head in thought and waved away the buzzing Buggle flies.
"I could have all the crumbly crust fingerpies that I could ever, forever be fed!"
The wolfman said
"When that lonely witch Maggie Mubbin meets me she'll forever and ever want to be wed!"
That werewolf then hatched a quick and cunning plan, a devilish one right from the start,
He'd march straight across all the Rumpled King's Land and win Maggie Mubbin's lonely heart!
That scoundrel and stinker, that heartless heartbreaker, would feign his affections-
With a masquerade, a phony parade, of graceful graces and gentle genuflections
His fawning and fibbing would easily win him Maggie Mubbin's culinary confections,
And Maggie Mubbin, Toussaint was quite certain, would never ever know his intentions
Maggie Mubbin would be at her oven braising and baking very soon
If Toussaint and she, were to forever be, a lovely bride and groom-
That wolfman knew what exactly to do; first, to never ever be late
And secondly have a dashing reflection for a lasting impression on the very first date
So Toussaint untangled the mangled mess that were his bushy brow
With a fishbone comb, he swore was on loan, from his bugbear friend, the Wickshire Wirry-cow
He scrubbed and scraped his tusky teeth so they would be less crusty
And when he ran, as fast as he can, through a sprinkler so he would be less musty-
Toussaint was left instead with a damp and danky head and smelled just like a wet puppy
He rehearsed by verse that starry night, the most dreamy of nights, under the Plum and Periwinkle Sky-
Performing overtures and charming gestures with shadow sculptures under the Pumpkin Moon high
Toussaint practiced and pranced a thespian stance before an imaginary crowd
And with a highbrow eyebrow angled askance- Bonjour he waved and Bonjour he bowed
'Till at last he perfected a courtly curtsy with a wooly paw whirling in the air
That beggar and bum, that colorful crumb, would never be undone for a lack of savoir faire
With his lesson complete he slapped his feet with a madcap hoot and huckle!
(A huckle is, as a matter of course, three-fourths a howl and a quarter cheeky chuckle)
This moonlit endeavor would forever be remembered a monumental moment
Entre nous, just between me and you, I'm considerably confident-
This would be the bon vivant Toussaint's only ever honest accomplishment
Why, this called for a dance, a silly saraband, the Danse Fantastique from Faerie Land!
So he revelled and wheeled and kicked his heels and cartwheeled into a handsome handstand!
And then he jiggled a jig, that wolfman did, and hugged himself happily,
While his sapphire shadow on the moonlit meadow, entwining like lovers spookily-
Skipped across the purple moss, a dewy floor of glittering grass and teasels
"Lunare follia!" suggested Signora Sophia, one of the two yawning watching weasels
Then from nearby Tumbly Tower bending over the nearby Boggling Ravine, the Barnacle Bells promptly bang and rung-
Twelveteen times; a mock thirteen- a carillon calling the Hexing hour had begun!
With a belching note to clear his throat the lycanthrope loudly spit,
Then sighed a contented sigh as he scratched a bit in a shaggy armpit
"Well, this is it!" he did posit, "My time to shine, with my gallant talent and my oh, so witty etiquette!"
And off to the hardly known Hills of Hardly Moor the wolfman then ran at a wicked lickety-split
He loped along the loamy lanes crossing all the Rumpled King's Lands,
And sped ahead on pebbly paths past Paisley Shores where the Faerie Woods stands
Toussaint passed quickly through the Prickly Plum pasture owned by the ginger pastor Piggle
And in the merry town of Derry-on-Derry, he was very nearly tempted to tip the gentle sleeping cattle
There weren't any hassle when he slipped past Cobbler Castle where lived- The Ticklish Something Awful.
The creature was on vacation in some other nation and wouldn't be home until mid-April
And when Toussaint climbed the hilly hills of the hardly known hills of Hardly Moor
He arrived at last on the viny path that led to the witch Maggie Mubbin's lonely door
Ah, the aroma of a fresh wonderfully crumbly crust fingerpie filled the night time air!
And Toussaint's fuzzy tummy grumbled loudly- announcing to everyone he was there
"Oh, my pets!" said Maggie Mubbin in her witchy voice, a twitchy voice; a bit of brogue with a fifth of Cockney-
"I have a notion from the commotion we have at last some company!"
Then Maggie Mubbin, who swayed like a penguin, shubbled over to her door
And on this night, the man of her dreams was standing right there in the middle of Hardly Moor!
This suddenly love struck witch's most wishful wish had at last come true!
The handsome wolfman, haloed in moonlight and standing there like a chiseled statue,
Had a debonair air and a come hither stare that turned her giblet heart to goo
Poets and Princesses in their prosy parlances have so often poetically explained
True Love at first sight truly happens and you should never, ever, whatsoever, be ashamed
"Bonjour, I'm sure!" said the phony paramour, "Why, what do we have here?"
"Is that a wonderfully crumbly crust fingerpie cooling on your window sill my Maggie dear?
"Please say that it is, I must say if it is, what a coincidence that providence has brought me here!"
"I'd just been telling my bugbear friend, the Wickshire Wirry cow," the wolfman worked his lie-
"I'd marry the woman, beast or human, who could bake such a wonderfully crumbly crust fingerpie!"
"Oh, this be magical! Oh, this be classical, this be an epical love story of true love coming true!
Oh, yes I will! Oh, yes I do!" boo-hooed Maggie, "I will indeedly permanently and most earnestly marry you!"
"I'll never be alone; this'll be our happy home! This will be a storybook marriage!"
"I shall bake and cook, (from Malfeasant's Magical Recipe Book), while you do little chores about our fairy-make cottage"
"You'll mend the fence and tend the immense intensely Green Protuberance,
"It's grown very wild, a very fiendish child, and has become a bit of a nuisance!"
"But don't you worry your furry head", Maggie said, "I'll be right near for guidance!"
"Why, you can till a garden; it'll be such a garden. Wait! Why not an arboretum?"
Oh, how Maggie could talk and dream! - "We'll have hollyhock and hemlock; that's of the genus Conium Maculatum,
With some Adder's Tongue growing among the mandrake and Very Grim Geranium!"
"Oh, and my dear pets, now they'll be yours too, see how they've taken to you so fondly-
Why, it's only been a half a dozen min, and it feels like we've forever been a family!"
"That reminds me; please have a look-see, at our dear Soupçon's snarly teeth,
For he grits and grinds and rips and rinds them so haphazardly and dastardly in his sleep"
"We had a little gypsy who dabbled a little in dentistry- here back a month or more"
"But this little Smidgeon, our furry little pigeon, ate him and no now one ever comes to Hardly Moor- hardly ever more!"
"And please, please clean the drains before it rains and it drip-drips steadily on the settee,
Because we'll sit there tonight in the moonlight, and you can hold me tight and whisper- I am so pretty!"
"Beezelbottin! I've quite forgotten! There's something clotting in my cauldron!"
"I'll be right back!" And with a crack the talkative witch magically alighted by her oven.
As Maggie's tongue mumbled on and on; a wanton roll-a-dill
There leapt up the wolfman's lupine spine a ghastly grim gallows chill
Toussaint's highbrow eyebrow were no longer angled askance that night
But were an expression, a suggestion of misbelief, disbelief and beflummeled fright
That worried werewolf was sure he heard a word, he had heard once before
(It may've been two hundred and sixty two years ago, maybe a bit more, he wasn't sure)
Nevertheless, it were a terrible word, a rotten word that every honest man and child abhors
This horrible word, (I shall do my best to ignore), is that feared six lettered word- chores
"This isn't good! Why, this isn't good at all! This not at all my retirement plan!"
"This sounds like work- an endeavor I've forever sworn to shirk!" proudly said the wolfman
So with that lovesick witch Maggie Mubbin momentarily out of sight
That lycanthrope lout tippy tip-toed out, (leaving behind a wonderfully crumbly crust fingerpie), and bolted and ran as fast as he can into the starry night
Toussaint the Teethy fled those hilly hills of the hardly known hills of Hardly Moor
And has never, ever returned and never, ever will, of that I am quite assuredly sure
This I was told by the werewolf's bugbear friend, the Wickshire Wirry-cow
Toussaint the Teethy was known for his velleity, and was on holiday now
(He also said his fishbone comb had never been on loan and were missing somehow)
As for Maggie Mubbin- many starry nights, the most dreamy of nights, under the Plum and Periwinkle sky,
Had come and gone as time ticked on under the woebegone Pumpkin Moon high
Until at last a Faraway Prince, a most handsome prince, stood before her door!
"Oh, Maggie Mubbin I heard your most wishful wish!" implored the adoring Faraway Prince
"And you needn't wish that most wishful wish of yours anymore!"
"For I shall break your lonely spell and forever more be your handsome husband here in the hardly known hills of Hardly Moor!"
"Oh my, my adoring dearie!" cooed Maggie Mubbin, "I'm already in love and my hand already taken!"
With that said she hit the Faraway Prince on his handsome head and ate him.
