Hodge-podge poetry

Molly's father had been
Grunt's only true rival,
So Molly (his heir) was
concerned with survival

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Without warning Sir Oak cried,
"Enguard you mighty pig!"
And went to withdraw his sword
Which snapped like a twig!

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This fumble aside,
Molly laughed with delight,
Oak's eagerness to please
Suited her needs just right!

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Besmirched of his honour
Grunt waited in gloom
But his cohort said he'd
Soon be making a tomb...

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Grunt kicked him with glee
His foot into Oak's privates
And Oak went down crying
adding to Grunts truimphs

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This sneak attack
Made poor Oak quite swoon,
But Grunt was no man
To wait long in gloom!

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He wrenched Molly aside
As she cried "Oh dear me!
You stupid old porn maniac!
Set me free!"

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But with Molly in hand
Sir Grunt felt himself free,
He'd whisk her to his castle,
The thought filled him with glee

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*lmfao, kind of like a real greasy Italian potato cake guy*

As Grunt cast aside
Oak groaned on the floor
Rolled around for a while
Till he felt better than poor

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Oak sprung to his haunches
and hissed at Sir Grunt
'You are but a lowlife peerage
You falstaffian old C**t'

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But Grunt was far too gone
To have heard what Oak said
He was planning to take beautiful Molly
With him quickly to bed

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Sir Oak's horse being dead,
He was left far behind,
But he swore he would save
Fair Molly in time

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fortune wrote:

<Why do I have an image of an old black-and-white movie villain twirling his moustache?>

I got that sort of image too. That's weird...

But, alas and alack,
Sir Grunt had now departed.
And with Molly ta'en too,
Oak felt quite broken hearted.

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But good fortune prevailed,
For Oak had in his pocket
Enough drake's gold to buy
A horse fast as a rocket

<I always like to prevail, it brings a smile to my face! Laughing

>

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He went to the stable
And chose him a hack,
A tangle maned mare
Of a velvety black.

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fortune wrote:

<I always like to prevail, it brings a smile to my face! >

(You don't want your creations to suffer Very Happy

.)

As Oak ceaselessly sped
To Grunt's horrid old lair,
This vile man took poor Mol'
Up his putrid, white stair.

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Poor Mol wasn't just
A bimbo who'd cry
You forget the sharp dagger
Strapped to her white thigh.

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Indeed Molly's able--
As able as Oak--
So she thought up a way
To get Sir Grunt to croak.

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She'd have to be careful,
She'd have to be quick,
She'd have to plan well
To pull off this trick

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Hodge-podge poetry

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