The task: to write a poem (No Ode, thank God),
Something frumious, not frivolous, no sir!
And in the asking, what would be the odds
That a vorpal blade would know the plural?
As for the bandersnatchi, who spent time floral
Garden arranging, was she, then, to die sir?
And so they came kerslplashing through mud
All bandered and snatched and quite a mess!
And the mother waited, unawares that blood
Would soon be snickered for a luncheon snack!
The old man with the bone let loose a paddy wack
And it was such an awful gloroofus mess!
The bandersnatchi said: "We're bandersnatches,
If you please." The old man shruggled. "Not to me,"
said he! Then he ran inside, batterened down the hatch,
Because the SPCB had come, demanding his license
And refusing to misbelieve the killing was uncommon sense
Because the little banderoos made such good eatings you see.
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