Maniacal was the magic in the thimble of the nimble grimbol.
Panic brewed in the picnic basket that contained the key that lead to the door to nowhere.
Shattered was the thought of distraught.
Did that grimbol just pop out of a thimble?
Transparent are they not.
How did that gigantic grimbol come out of that tiny thimble.
Hot as a cube of ice on fire that grimbol zoomed right out of that thimble.
Caught that imbecile coming across the window sill.
The grimbol no longer in the thimble snared the purloiner hung on a hook right next to the clock.
Grumbled did the grimbol the thief began to tremble.
Pinched a green ring upon the sneaks discrimination, the grimbol disappeared into his thimble.
My fault my fault my fault echoed the lowly looter.