The Walky Man

In the land where the flibberflabs flee,

There's a man who walks with so much glee.

He strides with a trot,

In circles, a lot,

And backwards as swift as a bee.

 

Round and round in the squoggle square,

Backwards, forwards, here and there,

In the blink of a snitch,

In a zig, in a zitch,

He walks without any a care.

 

With a bingle-bangle on his head,

And shoes gleaming of the brightest red,

He loops and he twirls,

In whizzing whirls,

And sleeps standing up in his bed.