There once was a Pobble who had all his toes,
And he said with a stifled yawn,
I’m not an old Pobble to tell all my woes,
But I’m careful when I’m mowing the lawn.
I don’t put my toes in piggy-wig pens,
I don’t cut my wood with an axe,
I don’t keep a donkey or pecky-peck hens,
And I pays all my duties and tax.
I dance very lightly and ballet with care,
I’m a waltzer who’s sent straight from Heaven,
I never do more than I do that I dare,
And I’m tucked up in bed by half-seven.
So count them, remount them, I have all my ten,
Ten toes to go Pobbling free,
I’m quite philosophical, definitely Zen,
And there’s no-one has toes quite like me.
Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved