The Furtive Goblin
‘Twas the night before Narblesnard and all through the burrow, one creature was stirring, his brow all a-furrow!
The bars were set against the chimney with care in hopes that the squirrel menace would not soon be there.
Scavenged wrappings lay piled in haphazard shreds, while the nightmarish fluff of a brown tail he dreads.
And acorns a-plenty, wrapped up in a sack; he fastened his coat and pulled tight on the strap.
Knowing his duties these acorns to scatter, he heads for the woods ears alert for the chatter.
Tiny feet in the snow towards the tree line does he dash, knowing times of the essence he must bury his stash.
The cold winter moonlight on his back all a-glow, he prepares for the ritual that all goblins know;
The young goblin finds himself in the forest clear, a bag full of acorns and a belly full of fear.
With deft little fingers and a very sharp stick, he jabs at the soils- deep, dark, and thick.
He finished his digging, hunched in shame, and reached for his acorns to give each one a name.
“Farewell Glurble, and Snurble and Warble and Gispen, I’ll miss you sweet Sargest and Blargest, and Babbler and Crispen.”
“From the sad dark pit you protect goblins all, and now back to my burrow in sadness I crawl.”
And then from the branches a glint of a tooth, panic overcame him with the sight of tail floof.
As he heard the chattering he turned himself round, he ran through the snow and hoped not to be found.
With sweat in his brow and tears in his eyes, he mourns his lost friends and whispers goodbyes.
This time of year he knows tricks won’t suffice, it is up to the acorns and their sacrifice.
His burrow he reached before the squirrels amassed, home, rest, solace at last.
As he rested by the warm firelight, he whispered “Blessed Narblesnard to all and to all a good night.”