TIny Mulder, Grand Adventurer: A Modified English Sonnet
On ancient shores he lands
For grand adventures, on Aer Lingus he had set
With merry makers, he holds tiny hands
Travel sans mercy, nary a regret
To ruins and pubs
Museum and shops
Historic elbows he rubs
Cliffs and colleges, everywhere he stops
Ne'er too fearful
Rare he's too weak
On any given trek, he feels the lull
He's Tiny Mulder, but never is he meek
