An Interesting Take on Invasives

I may have posted this once before, but it resurfaced the other day while I was tidying up my desk, and I just had to share it.

The Grimbles and the Gnad

by CJ Dennis

It was told me by a bushman, bald and bent, and very old,

Upon the road to Poolyerleg; and here’s the tale he told.

‘Twould seem absurd to doubt his word, so honest he appeared.

And, as he spoke, the sou’-west wind toyed gently with his beard.

First it was the Grimble Grubs,

Which they et his taters;

An’ all we buried in the end

Was Martin’s boots and gaiters.

With this cryptic observation he began his anecdote;

And, when I sought particulars, he smiled and cleared his throat;

Then sat him down, and with his brown, rough hands about his knees

He told it all. And, as he spoke, his beard waved in the breeze.

First it was the Grimble Grubs

As I sez at startin’

Which they et his tater crops

Which it troubled Martin.

Now, this Martin was a farmer with a scientific mind –

(It was thus the bushman started, as his beard blew out behind)

He farmed the land and, understand, his luck was all tip-top,

Till them there little Grimble Grubs got in his tater crop.

P’raps you have heard of the Grimble Grubs; more likely p’raps you’ve not;

When once they taste your taters you can look to lose the lot.

An’ poor Martin, he was worried till he met a feller who

Had read a book about the Swook, the which lives in Peru.

Now the Swook it is a beetle that inhabits Wuzzle Shrubs,

an’ it makes a steady diet of the little Grimble Grubs;

So Martin he imported some, at very great expense,

An’ turned ‘em loose to play the dooce and teach the Grimbles sense.

Then he swore by Wuzzle Swooks

Friends of cultivators

Which they et the Grimble Grubs

Which they et his taters.

But when the Wuzzle Swooks had et the Grimble Grubs right up,

Then they had to change their habits for to find a bit an’ sup;

So they started on his turnips, which was summat to their taste,

Till Mister Martin’s turnip patch became a howlin’ waste.

Then he natural grew peevish, till one afternoon he heard,

From a Feller in the poultry line, about the Guffer Bird

Which is a native of Mauritius and the woods of Tennessee,

An’ preys upon the Wuzzle Swooks for breakfast, lunch and tea.

So he got some Guffer Birds

Over from Maruitius,

Which the same by nature are

Greedy an’ malicious,

Which they et the Wuzzle Swooks –

Plague of cultivators –

Which they et the Grimble Grubs,

Which they et the taters.

Then Martin swore by Guffer Birds, until one day he found

They’d et up all the Wuzzle Swooks for miles an’ miles around,

an', havin’ still some appetite, an’ bein’ mighty mean,

They perched upon his apple trees and stripped his orchard clean.

Here’s where Martin got excited; he was in an awful funk,

Until one day he read about the little Warty Swunk,

Which has his home in Mexico, an’ lives on Guffer Birds;

An’ Martin, bein’ desperate, imported him in herds.

Then he praised the Warty Swunks,

Beady-eyed and vicious,

Which they et the Guffer Birds,

Native of Mauritius,

Which they et the Wuzzle Swooks –

Plague of cultivators –

Which they et the Grimble Grubs,

Which they et the taters.

Now them Swunks were simply wonders, an’ old Martin stopped his growls,

Till they et up all the Guffer Birds, an’ started on his fowls.

An’ the riots in his hen-house that occurred near every night

They robbed him of his beauty sleep an’ turned his whiskers white.

He was wearin’ to a shadder, till by accident he seen

a picture of the Boggle Dog in some old magazine.

And the same he was notorious for huntin’ Swunks an’ such,

And for livin’ on their livers which he fancied very much.

Now the Boggle Dog of Boffin’s Land is most extremely rare,

But Martin mortgaged house an’ home just to import a pair.

They was most ferocious animals; but Martin he was mad;

An’ he sooled ‘em on the Warty Swunks with all the breath he had.

Oh, he loved the Boggle Dogs,

Called ‘em “Dear” an’ “Darlin” –

Fierce, ferocious Boggle Dogs,

With their savage snarlin’;

Which they et the Warty Swunks,

Beady-eyed and vicious,

Which they et the Guffer Birds,

Native of Mauritius,

Which they et the Wuzzle Swooks –

Plague of cultivators –

Which they et the Grimble Grubs,

Which they et the taters.

Then Martin he picked up a bit, an’ got his proper sleep,

Until he found the Boggle Dogs had taken to his sheep;

For Warty Swunks is hard to catch, and nimble on their feet,

An’ livers of merino lambs is just as nice to eat.

Now, I’m thinkin’ here that Marin must have gone a trifle mad,

Else he’d never have imported such as creature as the Gnad;

For the Gnad, though few folks know it, roams about the Boffin bogs

An’ he has a passin’ fancy for the flesh of Boggle Dogs.

But Martin he imported one with his last bit of cash,

An’ loosed him on the Boggle Dogs –an action worse than rash;

But the Boggles stayed in hidin’, for the Boggles were discreet,

And the Gnad he cast his eye around for something he could eat.

“Sool ‘em, Towser!” shouted Martin dancin’ ‘mid his ravaged crops

But the Gnad regarded Martin as he slowly licked his chops.

An’ the last we seen of Martin, far as I can call to mind,

He was tearin’ round his paddock with the Gnad just close behind.

First it was the Grimble Grubs,

Which they et his taters,

They it was the Wuzzle Swooks

Plague of cultivators

Then it was the Guffer Birds,

Native of Mauritius,

Then it was the Warty Swunks,

Beady-eyed an’ vicious,

Then it was the Boggle Dogs,

With their snarls and snortin’,

Till the bad voracious Gnad

Finished his importin’.

An’ all because the Grimble Grubs

They got into his taters.

We never found a stitch of him

But blucher boots and gaiters.

Thus the bushman closed his story with a sympathetic sigh;

Then wrong my hand most heartily, and sadly said “Good-bye.”

And, as he went, ‘twas evident that he was ill at east:

He bowed his head, and, as I’ve said, his beard waved in the breeze.