The Goblins came with no warning,

Flooding the room two by two,

Disturbing the Girl’s Tuesday morning.

But why? She already knew.

“Tuesday fun,” one shouted loudly,

“Now hurry up with that!”

The Girl donned her vest quite proudly,

And gave the Goblin a pat.

“I’m ready now,”

She replied to him.

“I’ll give a bow,

And submit to whim.”

The world rippled

Then shuddered;

It whippled

And sputtered.

A dusty hill stood beneath foot,

And the King silently regarded the Girl.

She shifted on the orange sand-like soot;

She was eager for the game to unfurl.

“You’re an awful brat!”

She said at accusingly,

But he moved like a cat,

Sinuous and confusingly.

The King drew up behind her

And whispered in her ear,

“I will ignore your haughty slur,

For this time I’ll win, my dear.”

“I’d sooner drop dead,”

She stomped a dainty heel,

“Then with you wed,

You hold so little appeal.”

He laughed out loud,

A sound like two smoothly blended oils.

“Just a game, as I vowed,

But to the victor goes the spoils.”