Muckletocky

It was prelude white in the gantry night
And nobbut a bat-wing stirred
In the quietude of the scleemy brood,
But nothink or nobody heard.

Through the vinery deep did a gley beast creep
And a squelchy its talon-prints made.
Eating things that squeak, with a clack of its beak
In the weave of the dank brocade.

The beast turned pale, to a crisp of its scale
And a sharpish slice cut it still.
A swordster was waiting, for gley beasts baiting
And made his muckle kill.

He turned with a grin, to go home agin
One hand on the slimy stile.
But stopt with a stare, since its mother was there
A-spreading her toothy smile.