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The Rotls by Michael Steffan
published in Volume 4, Issue 2 on November 10th, 1997

The Rotls are stanky from camping each day
In pastures of milting and sparge.
They niggle near sinkholes voltaicly nebbed,
While knopping on anything large.

Their children, cartouched and rhombicly-shaped,
Are swived in burlap and leaves.
They spavinely dream their risible dreams
and sleep under awnings and eaves.

Frondescence in winter will drive them away,
Though they keep coming back every Spring.
Their dingus and dik-diks all fritted and fluffed
Grow large with the niblicks they bring.

The stannary elders have umbled and griped
At this subcutaneous bunch
In umlauts and pulpits all over the state
During breakfast, dinner and lunch.

The nectary langlaufs, and congressmen too,
Have oft-wondered what should be done.
The Rotls are troublesome, pimply skelps
Who love carbonado and fun.

Rotl cinchonas can last through the night
As their wanions grow bulbous and hard.
They'll cut off your wimples and boil them in milk,
Then fry them in lager and lard.

They'll razz with your dabchick and dingle your dak
So hold tight to your crimple and gown,
And brace for an architectonic old time
When the Rotls spill into your town.

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