That swampy bayou's our dream destination?
I'd rather stay on Aliso than go on this vacation.
But I suppose if I must, then Whyren's I trust
to numb me better than any pain medication.

Hardly a vacation, trudging around in the muck.
You have to watch where you step, to avoid getting stuck.
But Misium's lost in thought on this murky little romp.
He wonders, "how many bodies would fill the whole swamp?"

Bugs and muck are everywhere,
A horrid smell is in the air,
No signs of cities anywhere,
Please get me out of this nightmare.

The blasted Quaestor Furios
Made me so damn curious
But now I find we're in a bog
Everything covered in bloody fog.

A fetid bog overrun by strangling life
Twisting vines and swamp creatures, but Dark Jedi smell worst
A mad plan bringing Plagueis strife
Let's pack up and head back to space, Furios' name be cursed!

We like this marchy place
All wet and full of foam.
There's lots of things to chase!
It feels a lot like home.

Swamp and sticks,
Still better than my home,
But the odor just simply stinks,
Wonder if there is a catacomb,

I'm going punch Furios in the jaw
Because he drug us out here to Dagobah
Had he gotten this thing right
I would be tanning in Canto Bight.

Furios, oh Furios, wherefore art thou mind?
To bring us stamping through the mire and slime?
The saving grace that with the creatures I will be,
And hopefully lasting it out without a tragedy.

A planet untouched by technology,
Breeding rich biology (ecology).
From north to south and west to east,
I hear the voice of every beast

There once was a clan named Plagueis
In everything they always were serious.
Then just one day, with the Consul away,
They went on vacation planned by Furio.

Such an interesting place they’ve chosen.
Better then always feeling frozen.
Might actually enjoy my time.
Would be better if everything didn’t taste like slime.

The Mandalorian sighed,
bogged down in the swamp.
Flicking leeches to the sky,
a silent dream of Coruscant.

The rain, the bog, the steaming air,
I really feel it wasn't fair,
To send us to this sponge of a place.
It's not a vacation it's a karking disgrace!

Through the murk I will tromp,
the time is short, I must move faster;
My target, here, in this swamp,
will soon have a taste from my blaster.

You want a four-line rhyming poem? Enjoy an englyn cyrch!

Dralin hates dirt and grime
Native to Dagobah's clime.
So to deal with the trouble
He'll drink double next tea time.

Used to being in odd places,
However this one is odder still.
New place to explore and have fun,
Though hopefully not too much trouble.

The air is humid
And oxygen rich
From trees deep rooted
I should just ditch