Rampage in the Nightworld Forest

In the Morningworld of Forest, there’s scurrying and much unrest
foxes run, their tails a-quiver, snails and slugs race all-a-slither
through the grass and fairy rings, through the slime and squishy things,
over tree roots, squashing fungi, snorting, snuffling. My oh my!
Followed by all mice and rats, squirrels, owls and some stray cats
running, leaping, there’s no sleeping. Hear the squeaks of wakened bats.

Hurry hurry, tis soon time when Wizards cast their spells in rhyme
to rise up squirtling, squorting things, that run with legs on hairy springs
and squib down fairies toadstool homes, chewing on old goblins bones,
painting black upon the trees, cracking nuts between their knees
regurgitating greenish stuff, a liquid moss that gathers fluff,
groaning, moaning, gibbering – plant-life before them withering.

These blackened souls, they’ll claim the night, for tis their time and awful right
when moon on wane hangs down real low, for power of the dark will grow
to magnify these chasing things and give them horns and spiky wings
and massive mouths that shut real tight: ‘caverns’ sealed to block the light.
Poor creatures in the Morningforest, no wonder there was much unrest.
Where did they go? Will demons follow, to find them hiding in some hollow?

Oh how the blackness falls real quick, the waning moon is feeling sick.
The clouds above lie on the trees, darkening with malefic ease,
Hear the cries of frightened birds, hear the wizards’ ghastly words
weaving, tumbling through the night, gaining fear and gathering fright.
Now comes the rampage, great delight these nasty things take on this night,
breaking flowers, spitting gunk, and from old trees they take a chunk,
snarling, baring all their teeth, leaf mould blown – what’s underneath?
And yet their search is thwarted much, they cannot give full evil touch
their killing game has lost some features! Namely that of all the creatures!
All clusters of the evil intent, squirm away, their power spent,
fading with the wizards’ rhyme of voices hoarse – they’ve had their time.

The Nightworld Forest is empty, aching, all its ‘children’ have been taken.
Yet soon to be restored again, the moon no longer on the wane,
the squorting things truly vanished, by power of the light they’re banished.
And all the creatures who had run, came back to home by morning sun.
Peaceful now in this green space. Who would guess now what took place?