The Tale of Sqwrt

Sqwrt was a boy like no other,
For he had a name without any vowels.
Neither had he a sister or brother,
So his parents sent him to the bowels
Of the earth - grammar school.
Sqwrt hated the school,
No one thought he was cool;
They just laughed and called him a fool.
Sqwrt decided one day to run far away
From the cursed place he was at.
Sneaking past the other kids at play,
He grabbed his backpack, machete, and hat,
Then sprinted through the foreboding
Gates and into the jungle beyond.
Sqwrt traveled without minding
The dangers lurking beneath each frond.
Sqwrt, in his joy at being free,
Didn't see the large kingly tiger,
Watching over his kingdom from a tree.
The royal cat growled in anger
At the boy encroaching on his domain,
And with that scarce warning, nothing more,
The striped cat pounced, and not in vain;
For he pinned Sqwrt to the floor.
Just then a knight, Sir EggNog by name,
Came riding by. Seeing Sqwrt in trouble
He drew his sword, and it burst into flame,
Poached was the name of that magical bauble.
The knight cleaved that tiger in two
With a single masterful stroke.
A lot of blood and gore flew
Everywhere, causing Sqwrt to choke.
"What are you doing in the jungle alone,
Boy?" was all the knight said.
"I ran away from people who should atone
For all the bad things they've did."
Sqwrt answered quite wordily,
He was starting to hate all the rhyming.
Sir EggNog had no problem with the melody,
"Ahh, another one. Well met, and good traveling."
With that, Sir EggNog left Sqwrt abashed
And covered in blood. Being a practical kid,
Sqwrt went to a river and washed
Himself clean. Then he popped open the lid
Of a can of soup: Campbell's Chicken Noodle.
Sqwrt built a fire and cooked it in the can,
For his stomach growled, he didn't doodle.
The boy ate while thinking up a plan
Of things to do in the day to come.
Then, he set up his tent and slept.
Sqwrt woke as dew dripped from
The roof of his tent. He was adept
At camping, and before you could say band,
His gear was stowed, and breakfast
Was made. Sqwrt ate orange juice and
Pop tarts. When he finished his repast,
Sqwrt was on the road again, but more wary
Than the day before for random ambush,
As becoming dead wasn't very
High on his list of things to accomplish.
Sqwrt whistled a light tune as he strode
Through the thick jungle underbrush.
He was interrupted in mid tune as a rude
Werejackal jumped in his way, snarling gibberish.
This time Sqwrt was ready, and his machete
Whistled out of its sheath. Undaunted by
The fearsome faces Sqwrt was making, the
Werejackal attacked fiercely, hitting Sqwrt's thigh.
Grimacing in pain, Sqwrt ran the evil beast
Through with his machete, and then quickly
Bandaged his leg, remembering his Boy Scout
First aid training. His leg stung immensely,
But he recovered quickly and went fishing for trout.
He then continued on his travels
Hoping he would find nothing else to attack
Him in this strange jungle. He soon heard the revels
Of people, and ran down the track
That lead to the joyful sound. People were
Singing and dancing and generally
Having fun. Sqwrt smiled. No one here
Seemed to care about differences or technically
Unpronounceable names. Sqwrt had found what he
Had been looking for. He ran and joined the party
And lived happily ever after...at least until the
Next time I need to tell a story.
Now, you may be looking for the moral,
So if you've missed it, never fear,
For here I tell you about the moral.
If one looks hard enough, one will find, here
Or there, what one is looking for.
It may take a struggle, but in the end,
Anything is possible, anything in lore,
You can do anything in a story, my friend.