Sad Tale of the Kimble Frish

Throsh the mound of speckled egg and frolish mir on gentle brood,
To prig the coral nest and flee,
Where tropics brew to warm the garb and sweat the pastel brimble tree.
Grew, grew the Kimble Frish with downy soft and pinky bits,
Soon to be a mottled Frish,
With tanty quill and frosty brim, and proudly sporting garish trim.
When hunger grosh through forest came, to chomp on downy fresh and wee,
With pilting eyes the woodland scan, and spied the pastel brimble tree.
Then sneak the Gorel Grimble Droo,
With skilting beak and talons honed to shappled steel,
And gulped the Kimble Frish in two.
Poor, sad, Kimble Frish, Happy chappy, Grimble Droo.