Read Online Zorgamazoo by Robert Paul Weston - Free Book Online Page B

to the depths of the cave,
like a coffin’s descent, to the base of a grave…
The walls were all craggy and chalky with dust,
sallow and furrowed with craters and crust.
They slowly continued their deathly descent,
and things became dimmer, the farther they went.
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    Then came a light. It was eerie and green.
It threw lingering shadows all over the scene.
And the scene, you may ask? It was bleak! It was black!
There were cages piled up into stack after stack,
in a room like a warehouse, endless with aisles,
with cages and cages that went on for miles!
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    They were piled all the way to the curve of the roof,
and if things were afoul, then here was the proof:
In every last one was a creature or beast,
there must have been millions (or hundreds, at least).
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    Katrina looked round, with alarm in her eyes.
There were creatures of every conceivable size!
    Creatures she’d never encountered before,
CREATURES from stories and legends and lore,
Creatures most people would likely reject.
“They’re not real,” they would say, or so you’d expect.
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    But here they all were, looking hopeless and pale,
locked in some sort of a despicable jail.
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    There were yetis, packed in with the whiskery yecks,
so crowded and cramped, they had cricks in their necks.
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    In a cage to their left were a satyr and faun;
their shoulders were drooped and their faces were drawn.
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    Meanwhile, the mermaids were lockedin a pot
(and to tell you the truth, they weren’t looking so hot).
There were phoenixes too,
but their feathers were dim,
their fiery eyes had gone dismal and grim.
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    But surely the worst, the saddest of all,
was a CREATURE so broad, so impossibly tall,
that he needed the widest and mightiest cell,
and was fitted with shackles and fetters as well.
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    He was called the Behemoth,
this thundering brute,
this monstrously massive, enormous galoot.
To see him, perhaps, you’d be stricken with dread,
with only a glance at his elephant’s head.
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    But to look at him here , in his shackles and chains,
would induce only pity, and sympathy pains.
For in spite of his monstrous, magnificent size,
his trunk was all runny. There were tears in his eyes.
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    It was curious then that Winnie would smile,
as she peered down the cages, at aisle after aisle.
But smiling she was, as she pointed her claw.
“Look! It’s my Auntie and Uncle McPaw!”
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    So it was true. The windigo clan,
every windigo woman and windigo man,
were locked into cages and huddled in groups,
like curious chickens in miserable coops.
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    And next to their cages, can you guess who was there?
Creatures with shorter, more whiskery hair. . .
Who were these creatures? I’ll bet you know who.
“It’s the zorgles,” cried Morty, “from Zorgamazoo!
“They’re here!” he resounded. “Our adventure is done!
We’re finished, Katrina! We found them! We won!”
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    Katrina was comically rolling her eyes.
“Morty,” she said, “a word to the wise:
You might be rejoicing a little too soon,
you might want to think about changing your tune.
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    Just look at the others, they’re mostly in tears.
They look like they’ve been here for hundreds of years!
And what about us? We’re not doing too hot.
We’ve been kidnapped , remember? Or have you forgot?
So I hate to sound morbid, or even morose,
but I don’t think we’re finished—no, not even close!”
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    â€œOh, yeah,” Morty frowned, going suddenly glum,
“Well, this is the pits! We should never have come!”
    Katrina turned back to the miniature man.
Who was he? she wondered. What was his plan?
    Â 
“Hey, you!” she cried out.
“Do you want some advice?
How ’bout

    The man remained mute. He said nothing at all.
It was sort of like talking to bricks in a wall.
    Â 
    â€œYou’re a lout!” said Katrina. “And a