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There's a churning in the water,
Movement underneath the waves,
Better listen very closely,
This advice your life could save.
You're in Jetsam territory here.
And you'd better get out fast.
They don't take kindly to intruders,
So raise the sails up on your mast.
Don't look over the sides now,
For they are circling the boat,
Just turn the ship around and go,
If you'd like to stay afloat.
Was that a thud against your port side?
What was that scraping by your stern?
I told you to get out quickly,
But it seems you never learn.
I've heard of sailors lost out here,
Though I couldn't tell you when,
Who set out looking for Maraqua,
And were never seen back home again.
Gleaming fins above the surface,
Hint at sharp teeth down below,
When lost in Jetsam territory,
You'd better turn your boat and go.
A Silly Tale of Flouds
I wish I had a tale to tell,
Of princes, castles, and clouds,
But since there is just none of that,
I'm going to talk about Flouds.
Never feed them carrots or else
They might turn green and blue.
They've lost their way around,
And there's nothing much to do!
So bumping into towers they
Spend all their days just floating.
Whilst we, the sensible ones,
Can just stand around, gloating.
It's nightfall, and it's getting late,
The Flouds are sleepy and tired.
Tomorrow is a brand new day,
We can dance with Flouds and play!
What Donny Does
All alone on a cold mountain top
Lives an old grumpy Bori in his toy repair shop.
Neopets with toys broken and worn
Come a-knocking on his old wooden door.
So with his trusty tools of trade,
He will fix those toys up as long as he is paid.
With nimble fingers and an experienced hand,
He will make those broken toys look really grand.
There is nothing he cannot repair,
From broken Neopoints to an old teddy bear.
Whether its been broken a day or a year,
He will repair it, never fear!
None can equal this old Bori's skill,
For the task that he has only he can fulfill.
So that's this old Bori's claim to fame.
Oh, and in case you are wondering,
Donny is his name.
Winter in the Ice Caves
Pallid cotton, silken white,
Blankets gelid land.
Boughs weighed down by flakes of snow,
Each branch so bare doth stand.
Distant memory remains,
Of days in recent past.
Longer afternoons and warmth,
For winter doth come fast.
Where once did echo merry calls,
As pets on sleds would slide.
Now the air itself is chilled,
One seeks to dwell inside.
Echoes ring at cave above,
Within a beast doth sleep.
Dreaming of a warmer time,
He guards his valued heap.
Arena formed of crystal shards,
Where some do stand and fight
Is silent now and frosted cold,
Draped by the silken white.
Neggery, its door closed tight,
From chimney smoke shall glide.
The faerie warm and snug within,
Curled up by fire's side.
The path to reach the mountain's peak
Is frozen, glossed with sheen.
Icicles like diamonds hang,
So flawless, winter scene.
Pawprints in the fallen snow
Are soon a memory too.
Each fall of powder wipes them clean
And forms the snow anew.
Ice Caves silent do await
The thaw of coming spring.
The promise of what does await,
And what the sun will bring.
Fly On, Glubgar!
A lone flier flaps, through blazing caves,
Dodging fatal molten rock,
Barely evading and doing close saves.
So deep within the ravenous core,
His muscles all so weakened and so sore.
Never landing, never resting,
It all an endless, epic will-testing.
His wings start to falter, start to tire,
But fly on, Glubgar!
And so goes on the fiery flier.
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