And The Poison Ivy Fairy Cake,
(Based on an idea by Leanne & Lou McPherson).
Herbert was the worst of them – The Boggy Brothers, two,
His hair all full of fattened lice, his fingers smeared with poo.
Stubby nails from scratching, teeth black with decay,
His stench was reason on its own to frighten folk away.
He hadn’t always been so foul – in fact he’d been quite fragrant,
But failing eyes had turned him from a prince into a vagrant.
What looked like food, got shoved inside, because it was still hot,
You’d never want an evening meal from Herbert’s cooking pot!
His brother, Trev, though not so foul, was sneaky to extreme,
And jealous that old Herb was called, ‘The Meanest of The Mean.’
So, though he played at being friends, Trev’s plan was always clear.
He’d seal old Herbert’s downfall – become ‘ Trollest of the Year.’
One night as Herbert feasted, on rabbit dropping roast,
washed down with muddy milkshake and served with snake-skin toast,
Trevor lumbered from their bog and laid old Herb a trap –
A poison ivy fairy cake, for Herbert’s midnight snack.
As midnight struck, Herb’s stomach groaned, “Time for me to eat,
‘What I need is something fresh – a juicy bit of meat…”
“But what about your pudding, Herb?” Trevor kindly asked,
“You’re looking pale, dear brother. No need for you to fast.”
Herbert laughed, and farted, then laughed again quite loudly,
“Sniff that,” he dared, and trumped again, this time very proudly.
“Pudding’s just for sissies – give me something I can chew,
If I eat nowt’ but pudding, I’ll end up just like you!”
“That’s where you’re wrong though, Herbert, for pudding’s full of fat,
It keeps Trolls fit and healthy – every troll knows that.
A troll that won’t eat pudding, gets so fragile, he could break.
A clever troll is one who knows it’s vital to eat cake.”
Herbert frowned, and picked his nose, he really wasn’t sure,
‘I’ve read the Trolling manual, and I’ve not heard that before.”
“Are you sure you didn’t miss it, Herb?” Trevor asked him sweetly.
“The manual’s writing’s very small – and you can’t see completely.”
“Pud, it is, then,” Herb declared, and turned and trudged away.
Behind him, wicked Trevor Smiled, “I’ll be crowned by break of day,”
“See you before sunrise” Herb called, scratching at his bum,
“I don’t think so,” Trevor whispered, “I know what’s to come!”
At break of dawn, Herb returned, belching as he lumbered,
And placed a thank-you gift beside his brother, as he slumbered.
When Trev awoke, and looked around him, Herb was lying still.
“Hurrah,” Trev cried, “it looks like Herbert’s really had his fill!”
Then, by his side, old Trevor spied, the gift left by his brother,
A scabby squirrel – but all the same, a present from another.
And feeling peckish from his sleep, Trev shoved it in his gob,
But as he chewed, it struck him, that the squirrel tasted odd.
Herbert peeled an eye open, and glanced down at the ground,
No fox where we had left it – he was glad it had been found.
He’d pretend that all was normal, and he wouldn’t say a word,
For if he told Trevor the truth, he’d think he was absurd.
But Herbert was traditional – a proper kind of troll,
And always conscious that he had his bad name to uphold.
How could the ‘Trollest of them all,’ go eating fairy cake?
What kind of dolly-Trolly reputation would that make?
So when he’d found the pudding that he knew dear Trev had left,
(And not to seem ungrateful or to leave old Trev bereft),
He’d killed Trev’s favourite supper, and opened its mouth wide,
And checking no-one saw him, he hid the cake inside.