by Gerard J. Surprenant

In a land so misbegotten,
In a time that's best forgotten,
Lived a people known to most
As the lowly Keppanokin.

On their land they toiled and labored.
Tilled the soil for modest favor.
Searched for food in wooded forest.
Oh . . ., the downcast Keppanokin

Then, one charcoal pitch-black night,
Host of muted moon-less fright,
Came an evil ogre bold
To the land of Keppanokin.

Crashing, crushing, deep destruction,
Trees a-trembling, tilting, toppling.
To the simple huts so small,
Of the cowered Keppanokin.

Pounding fists on doors of all,
"Who abides in huts so small!?
Who denies my cut, my due!?
Who defies my want!? . . .. Who!? Who!?

Shrinking meekly, from within,
In trembling voices through the din,
"Keppanokin," was the tribe's response.
"Keppanokin . . . but you can't come in!"

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