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The Secret Is Buried In Tyrannia
The latest Lenny Conundrum
Was the craziest we've ever seen.
Endless strings of capital letters...
What did it all mean?
At last the answer was released,
But it was even zanier --
A simple six-word phrase that read:
"The secret is buried in Tyrannia."
The most curious minds of Neopia
Were far from satisfied.
They wanted the LC's true meaning,
But it seemed they would be denied.
Just what was it that was buried
In that prehistoric place?
The secret-hunters went to dig
And it became a race.
They worked beneath the burning sun
On that baking plateau,
In search of the fabled secret
Everyone wanted to know.
Would there be jewels or buried gold?
A map of treasures lost?
They were determined to find out,
No matter what the cost.
The minutes became hours,
And the hours became days,
But they could not be broken
From their secret-hunting craze.
And still, they dig, the secret-hunters,
Caught up in the mania
Of that one conundrum answer,
"The secret is buried in Tyrannia."
How much I adore
What a way
To welcome autumn
Five times each
For every game
I grow rich
At the bank
I can deposit
To buy gourmet foods
Left me broke
Now I save
With each game I play
What to buy?
I am sure
Something special will
Catch my eye
The month of
Gathering ends with
I'll be sad
To say goodbye to
Jay The Candychan
We all know a little friend named Jay,
Who fills our lives with frolic and play,
Who sticks by us through turbulent trials
And replaces all our worries with smiles
Her body’s striped in silver and red,
With peppermint leaves and a sizable head,
A little grin and two beady green eyes
That shine and glimmer with a curious light
She came to us from winter-kissed peaks,
A Candychan of a fragile physique,
Alone in the frost, she was burdened to roam
Until we found her and then brought her home
And “Welcome!” all the others would greet,
Her jubilant manner made our family complete,
She came to be known as little Jay
And my, was her arrival a joyous day!
Since then, she’s stayed, and forever after
Charming our mundane days with laughter,
Who’d guessed a cold and bleak ascent
Would yield us with such a warming friend?
The Cheeseroller Techo
When most Neopians are sound asleep,
The Cheeseroller Techo starts his day,
He mows his hill, he moves some mounds,
He replaces some rocks
And then heads to town.
His mission is simple, to stock up on cheese,
So later his customers can play with ease.
In his hometown he begins his tireless search,
As he enters the dump, his stomach lurches,
He finds the cheese
That is most rotten and vile,
Needless to say, he's not there for a while.
This next cheese brings tears to his eyes,
It smells much worse than a pig sty,
Tyrannian Dung Cheese is far from desirable,
When it rolls down his hill it's quite admirable.
This cheese is evasive in its ways,
The Deserted Tomb is where it lays,
The skillful Techo, with all his might,
Eventually finds his shiny golden delight.
In the Fishing Vortex this cheese resides,
The Techo carefully fishes into its tides,
It only takes but a minute or two,
To find some Fishy Cheese, oh so blue.
And right in the middle of Faerieland,
By the discarded Grundo, a tree stands,
The determined Techo takes some heavy bark,
Ignoring the plushie's pleaful remarks.
The next cheese originates from the stars,
To obtain it, the Techo must travel far,
Space Cheese is lighter than the rest,
Maybe that is why it is voted the best.
Sakhmet is home to a delectable cheese,
The smell of it is sure to please,
For Fragrant Ummagcheese
Smells outright delicious,
Its Umaggine core makes it equally nutritious.
The Haunted Woods has the weirdest cheese,
It almost appears as if it has knees,
This Mutated Cheese is quite disturbing,
At night you can almost
Hear the cheese lurking.
The PPL disapproves of this cheese,
For it's made from a Petpet, you see,
Yes, Angelpuss Cheese
May sound wrong in a way,
But Neopians demand that he have it to play.
Now he does not need
To stock up his whole store,
For he still has cheese from the day before,
So he heads back on down
To his beautiful town,
And stocks his store with all that was found.
And surely enough, by this time of day,
It is time for Neopians to come out and play,
So he goes outside and takes a seat,
To begin a day of Cheeserolling feats.
It's All Too Bootful
Another long day at this mildew-filled hole
Where fishy smells stick in your nose.
My hand's got a cramp from this creaky old pole
And there's seaweed in all of my clothes.
There's nobody down here but me and my 'pet;
The boredom's becoming acute.
And I'm really not sure what I came here to get
But I know that it isn't this boot.
The Jetsam who sits
Selling hooks and fresh bait
To Neopian suckers like me
Has abandoned the kiosk and us to our fate
And headed back home for his tea.
I swear we were promised
In last weekend's news
A fishing hole filled with new loot.
The prize of my dreams?
I don't know how to choose;
I just know that it isn't this boot.
Enough. I'm off home to my dry, cosy bed;
There's no shame in admitting defeat.
Who threw in these things,
And what went through their head,
And moreover, what went on their feet?
I'll come back here tomorrow, if I'm so inclined,
Though my chances of fame seem minute;
They say that good luck's really all in the mind,
But today's left a pile of wet leather behind.
I don't know what great riches
The fortunate find,
But I know that it isn't this boot.
Total Poetry Pages : 2008
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