Underneath the worn stone steps That flanked the bridge, there lived an imp Who caught a curse of raw, fierce hunger, Gnawed his legs till both were limp. He couldn't keep his teeth away From limbs that now were knobby stumps; By night and day he nibbled off Each bit by bit, in bite-size lumps. But then one sticky summer day, Across the bridge tromped Little Will, Waving net and whistling loudly, Catching butterflies with skill. As he passed from stone to grass, Our Little Will heard chatt'ring teeth And mumbled grumblings, smacking lips, Wafting up from underneath.