Mr. Krumble's Plan.

Old Mr. Krumble had a blank stare,A crooked, hooked nose and shaggy, loose hair. He hated all children, they filled him with spite, So he concocted a plan later that night.

The plan was quite simple, and that it was so, To strap rockets to children - his ugly, little foe. The children would fly and have such fun at first - That was until the rockets suddenly burst. They would never suspect that this old man of mirth Would be the harbinger of doom they’d been warned of since birth.

So old Mr. Krumble, with smile so mean, Hurried into town to exact his diabolical scheme. Purchased the rockets, paid all in cash, And hurried to the park to show off his stash. He set up a stall, with signpost so high: “Try my new rockets and you’ll reach the SKY!”

He sat for a while to marvel at his work, Whilst he ate his jam sandwich, he could not help but smirk. He launched off one rocket to draw a young fan, The sudden burst of sound drew attention to the old man. Children for miles clamoured to the fray, Completely unaware they were running the wrong way.

Old Mr. Krumble could not decide which child to launch first, And had to pick from the children he thought worst. He was unaware that children came in all shapes and sizes, Some were fat and tall, some still without incisors. But the worst child he saw, With behaviour that he could only abhor, Was that of a small boy… With a pee-shooter as his toy.

Mr. Krumble smiled, felt for the lighter in his pocket, And placed the small boy on a bright yellow rocket. Duct tape and glue he then applied second, And to the other children he continuously beckoned. He pulled out his lighter, under-breathe he cursed, When all of a sudden the rocket spontaneously burst! Fire and flames rained down from the sky! Even from a distance you could hear them all cry!

Alas, all were consumed in the explosions of fire, Including Mr. Krumble, who being tall, burned a bit higher. So let this be a lesson to all those whom plot and plan, It is a fool who mistakes rocket fuel for apricot jam.

J. R. Newton

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An Open Letter to Julia Gillard