III.
"Coming, coming!" Biba cry
As open door from other side.
"Oh my heavens, aren't you tall?"
Biba twinkling smile turn wry.
"Come in and have something to eat.
My rabbit stew is thick with meat
And veggies from the market stall.
Dig in! No need to be discrete!
Build up your strength, a second bowl
Is on its way. Good for the soul!"
Vlaam devour stew with vigour
And Biba's skills loudly extol.
"By Prospero! This is a treasure.
Fare transcending mortal measure!
I'm in your debt, as I may figure
Any ransom is my pleasure."
"There is one thing that you could do
To work off all those bowls of stew.
My floors have seen a lot of traffic:
Halflings and goats, more than a few.
Somewhere there's a pot of wax
Beyond the dusty village tracks,
Beyond the fields of rural graphic
Beyond the walls of tall haystacks,
That, when applied, will make a shine
As bright as a Mithraean shrine
At daybreak on midsummer's eve
Upon this hardwood floor of mine."
Biba laugh with winning style
As dark eyes twinkle with guile
So Vlaam no be able conceive
What plan concoct by female wiles.

IV.
Off Vlaam rumble through the village
Past the tower and earthy tillage
Until within a secret glade
Vlaam discover waxy pillage.
As move to take small wooden pot
Hear snort from wargoat, seem distraught.
Lowered head with horns arrayed
Foaming mouth and eyes bloodshot,
Charge at Vlaam with bold abandon
Run headlong with movement random.
Vlaam dodge quickly to one side
As goat and horns pass by in tandem.
"These dour regards come unexpected!
My pardons if I have neglected
To assuage your headstrong pride
With some token well-selected."
Reach into Vlaam huge backpack
Out come fist with simple snack
Of tart green apple Vlaam receive
From Bodo just some moment back.
Wargoat eyes go wild with craving
Sight of apple seem depraving.
Vlaam toss treat with mighty heave
And wargoat chase with white tail waving.
So to make long story short
Back to Biba Vlaam report
With wooden pot and plenty muscle
For the Halfling to extort.
Day or two Vlaam wax and scrub
Work strong finger down to nub,
As meanwhile Biba hum and bustle
Gather up whole pile of grub.

V.
In time, Vlaam make return to camp
With leg be tired and forehead damp
From march all through both night and day
Ignore the cold and stomach cramp.
When guard and Gruul see so much food
That Vlaam on journey have accrued
Slap on back and cheer hurray
And stomp around in joyful mood.
To this day, troll of all kind
Who on rabbit stew have dined,
Admit is hard to beat the taste
Of Biba dish so well-refined.


Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Valnuary, in the year 447 AF.