| I wrote a children's story about a little dog. It rhymes and most of it is in iambic pentameter.
The Incredible tale of Fitzbratchet
There once was a dog that lived with a witch,
He watched TV and moved not a twitch.
The days were quiet and their life was good.
And together, they lived, deep in a wood
She mixed her potions - such wonderful stuff
He made few motions - just scratched at his scruff.
| One morning, the witch, with a gleam in her eye,
turned off the TV and her dog asked her, "why?"
"Because, my dear dog, I've a job for you -
"so many places I'll have you pass through"
The job sounded tiring, and he was alarmed
To aches and perspiring, he'd never quite warmed.
|"You must visit my Aunt in Ingle-Dell
"And borrow some things I need for a spell.
"All dogs," she said, "must know how to fetch"
Fitzbratchet moaned like a pitiful wretch.
She gave directions and packed him a lunch,
shushed his objections and hugged him a bunch
The next thing he knew he was out on the road
He muttered and grumbled then shouldered his load.
The forest was misty, spooky and dark
He was too frightened to whimper or bark.
He hurried along, his eyes sharp with fear
And then all went wrong when something drew near.
It was a fox, and much bigger than he,
much faster too - there was no chance to flee.
"Hello little dog," it said with a smile
Its teeth were sharp - its expression was vile.
"What is it you've got in the bag on your shoulder?"
Fitzbratchet was caught and his blood felt much colder.
He panicked, yelped and took off in a sprint
Where he was going, he had not a hint.
The fox was behind, his pulse in his ears
This job was worse than the worst of his fears.
He was losing range - his lead wasn't staying
There then was a change, when they heard baying
"Hounds!" the fox cried and he slipped on his feet.
He quickly turned tail and made a retreat.
For a moment - just one - Fitz was alone
Then into a pack of hounds he was thrown
It was then jump and run - bark and yelp, all because
He was having such fun, he forgot where he was.
Down to a creek, they all followed the scent
But down there they knew not where he had went.
They sniffed and they searched for quite a long time
They waded all through the mud and the slime
The huntsman could see that the dogs were all tired
And he knew the degree of rest they desired.