Bright-Smooth-Silent-Rancid-Smoke-House-Quarry-Boat-Fly-Blow
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I.
A duck indeed may float,
but no joy on this boat
for the supposed occultist
the haggard villagers smote.
II.
The chase began late - quick was the quarry,
but darkness would never hinder a hunter,
nor temper his hunger for glory.
III.
They called his poor attitude rancid,
none he called upon ever enchanted,
but try as he might, no matter the fight,
a great victory surely was granted.
IV.
In all the woods, smoke -
and so the great earth squeezed out
it's last breath, to choke.
V.
Sleight of hand, incite demand,
what shade may hide, reveal inside,
a spell of luck, let fate untuck
bright fortune wide; delight applied.
VI.
No more echoes inhabit this house,
incense burnt, water sprinkled, and such -
but skitter still does the scavenging mouse,
she's never put faith in these, much.
VII.
Violent were the waves pursuing
escapees dozing at the helm,
silent dreamers drowning soon.
VIII.
What else may fly, unsuppressed
by the wet heat of midday in July?
The quintessential, the stereotypical,
and the frog's late and echoing cry.
IX.
The stone was smooth - it cooled his touch,
but what still burned, it never could soothe.
X.
Begin the show - those in the know
return the favor before the blow
may even land. So rouse the band,
and send the offender to hell below.
