The Trolls are Coming

I have a fascination with trolls and giants and the old faery folk especially the northern type. This one is a rather silly series of verses. It is on going and I will most likely add to it in the future.
When I started writing this I was amazed at how many different type of trolls I came up with. Their are even a few that do not have verses yet.
Do you know any trolls? I would love to hear about them.

The trolls are coming.

The trolls are coming!

It’s a big one in front.

A King of the Trolls

By the size of his gut.

He has a long beard

That drags in the mud

It’s tangled and snarled

A home for stray bugs

And he is drinking swill

From a huge oaken mug

Next we see the mountain trolls

Each of them juggling

Large heavy stones

There is moss on their toes

And strength in their bones

Best ye respect these hearty folk

And let them be in their earthly home.

Oh a rare sight indeed!

Are these book-trolls I see?

Each with long fingers

Leafing through pages and pages

Of stories of ages

Their large pale eyes

Well suited to read

The books they have

Pilfered from you and from me

Even the lazy trolls have mustered.

Look how they posture and bluster.

With drooling jaws

And greedy snatching claws

All day they dream of plunder.

Ask them to fetch their own dinner

They'll wine and they'll whimper

And cry and simper

Until their bellies are full

Then insist it be you

To wash out the bowl!

Now comes a common breed

They guard things,

Like bridges and crossroads.

The weird neighbors abode

All shapes and sizes

With clever disguises

Masters of riddles

They collect tolls

Be it a tune on a fiddle

Your flesh or your gold

If this sort of troll

You never meet

You will be lucky indeed!

Now let your eye stray

To these beautiful maids

The troll-wives are fair

Beyond compare

See how the sun sparkles

And plays in their hair?

Their lissome, long legs

Lithe in the grass

Oh for the love of a buxom

Troll lass!

An Irish troll I see

Not the Chuan of the glen

But an ancient fir-bolg

Hoary and grim

With one eye like Balor

Bearing a harp and a drum

An old spirit of Eyre

Who rumbles and plays

As he comes

In dirty red hats

With cruel knives

And empty sacks

Beware! Stay back.

The vicious red-caps

Will take you away

Unless your mother

You obey.

And what have we here?

With eye-brows arched

And ugly, pinched faces

Cold hearted, critical trolls,

Never liked, always hated.

But you’re wrong

And they’re right

Despite

What you know

And they don’t.

Don’t be a wretched,

Critical troll,

A know it all creature

With no friends at all.

Stinky trolls never good!

Tuck your nose

Away in your hood

You can see how they reek

Grimy skin

Moldy old feet

Foul breathe

Unbrushed teeth

Some even smell

Like warm rotten meat.

The old snow Trolls
They let their drums roll.
And the cold blows
Into your armour holes.
Let it snow....let it snow.
The old winter trolls
Are coming to freeze your bones.