It was a dark and stormy night, nothing wicked this way came, not even Little Bo Peep.
She paid the toll, and rode the Sandman troll. But he ran off with her pay. That little creep.
She conspired with her Prince John who arranged it so: the troll would soon sow what he would reap.
It must not be spoken of, the trap the two had laid. Suffice to say, it was a costly price he paid.
“Don’t mess with my flock,” so said the Master of Sheep. And now even the Sandman was afraid of sleep.