Ms Cheryl Diane Parkinson

Writer


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The Biscuit Munchin’ Monster

The Biscuit Munchin Monster #2The biscuit munchin monster #1

A biscuit munchin’ monster’s lair,

Is something that’s extremely rare,

Like ghosts, spooks, and alien beings,

No-one can prove that they’ve been seen.

But little Amelia, she knew better,

She knew monsters to the letter,

She knew monsters old and new,

For, she felt, she’d met a few.

She knew the monster under the bed,

Who, with a glare, could strike you dead,

Took careful handling on her part,

Like avoiding being alone in the dark.

And then the monster in the Wily Woods,

Who Amelia knew was up to no good,

Waiting for her to take the short cut,

Which all sounds fine, except for the but.

In the Woods lived a monstrous rat,

Now, who on earth could have guessed that?

But Amelia avoided at all costs,

The evil rat that wants her lost.

The biscuit monster she’d never seen,

But always knew where he’d been,

He’d leave a trail of biscuit crumbs,

On the table tidied up by mum.

On the floor and round the corner,

He would never be a biscuit mourner!

Out the door and down the lane,

Crumbs all scattered round the drain.

Now Amelia was a brave little soul,

The super sleuth was her role,

She’d follow clues where they’d lead,

For she knew he’d need a feed.

The monster needs to store his hoard,

For his rumbly belly wasn’t ignored

With no teeth to gnash on his stash,

The crumbly biscuits were for his cache.

Amelia was good and wise and true,

But even she never really knew,

Where he kept his monstrous feed,

After he did his terrible deed.

Each time she’d follow the biscuit trail,

Each time she’d disappointedly, fail,

To find the monster and his lair,

And recover the biscuits he had there.

For what she didn’t know was this,

She never, ever seemed to miss,

She’d find him each and every time,

But never catch him in the crime.

For he would vanish, up in smoke,

And cover his lair with an invisible cloak,

To hide each time that she was near,

For she was the one he would fear.

He couldn’t lose his staple meal,

An empty tummy did not appeal,

For mother was a fabulous cook,

She’d bake biscuits by the book.

And every Friday without fail,

A batch’d be cooling: the Holy Grail,

The biscuit monster’d guiltily steal,

The whole hot batch for his meal!

And Amelia would, sadly, get the blame,

And every Friday it was the same,

And she would put a stop to it,

As soon as she could find the git!

Alas, alack, that’d never be,

For he absolutely loved his tea,

And what goes nicely with his crumbs?

Some hot Earl Grey, in his tum!

And so each week she did her best,

Without stopping, without rest,

She’d try to find where he lived,

So she could take back, not give.

But to find a biscuit monster’s lair,

Is something that’s extremely rare,

Like ghosts, spooks, and alien beings,

None could prove that they’d been seen.