[Write a poem about getting covered in mud.]

It was not something Bullij expected in the least,

That when he was out making money for a feast,

The forest turned out to be full of the deceased.

Bullij ran and ran until he was beyond exhausted,

No time to light a fire and prevent from being frosted,

Worried that Death would fancy him for a hostage.

He had no idea when it became that his undead pursuers stopped,

But he was quite lucky for that because his body just dropped,

The lack of energy within his body left him feeling mopped.

Twas then when he felt the earth shake,

So Bullij knew he had to stay awake,

In case whatever came needed something to break.

Though even if a beast appeared he probably couldn’t flee,

Because of everything hurting, what ached the most was his knee,

Specifically both but that didn’t matter ‘cause what appeared was bigger than a tree.

A giant snake slithered its way toward him,

And with no energy whatsoever in any limb,

His odds of survival were quite slim…and grim.

But then Bullij noticed the giant pile of mud nearby,

Something he never expected could become his ally,

But he hoped his idea would work instead of go awry.

Bullij did his best to roll to the mud pile,

Hoping the snake would think him too vile,

To eat and instead go for something more worthwhile.

It worked as Bullij worked and the snake left him alone,

And the mud pile was warm and helped heat Bullij’s cold bones,

Making him feel like he’d just found a gemstone.

And although Bullij was paralyzed,

All the surrounding beasts were quite civilized,

Not eating him as though he’d become despised.

So when Bullij had rested long enough,

He had enough strength to pull himself out of the slough,

And thanked the mud pile for being so tough.

When Bullij made it back to his village unharmed,

Everyone around him became quite alarmed,

And asked him why he was so well armed.

Bullij asked all those around him for an in-depth explanation,

Which was when his wife told him of the very peculiar information,

If he hadn’t been born without the ability to smell that he’d feel quite the sensation.

As it turned out,

The thing that killed everyone’s snout,

Was not mud but dragon shit, everyone vouched.

A note from FaebyenTheFairy


I was tempted to simply write a short story rather than bother making a poem...but my creativity won the battle.

About the author


Bio: A web novelist. Currently in training as a fantasy writer.

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