The Last Laugh

Mother platypus had been busy all day digging her burrow deeper.

She placed sticks and stones to stop the water washing away her hole.

“What are you doing,” Turtle asked.

“Protecting my home. The water becomes less each day,” replied Mother Platypus.

“We need more rain,” suggested Turtle. “The heat is drying up the water. The leaves on the trees have turned brown. Dust where the grass should be. No clouds appear. My home has turned to muddy water. Why won't it rain?”

“Did you see the dust cloud. A funny dust cloud, it was. No wind blew at the time,”

said Mother Platypus. “Can't imagine what can cause so much dust.”

“We won't have to worry when the rain comes,” replied Turtle. “If the rain doesn't come soon I'll have to move to a new home.”

“I don't see why we should have to leave our homes,” grumbled Mother Platypus. “We've lived here all our lives.”

The hot rays of the sun scorched the dry land to dust.

Creek, and waterholes, became cracked, hard ground around the edges.

Less water each day for the animals to drink.

Lobbies burrowed deeper under the rocks to stay alive until the next rain fell to fill the creeks.

Fish gasped for oxygen in the water.

Some animals had moved away to find new home with water, and food.

The days passed.

No rain came.

Mother Platypus became more worried.

She decided she needed to act to save her home.

“Mister Kookaburra. Will you please come down out of the tree,” called Mother Platypus, from where she sat on a log.

Mister Kookaburra glided down to perch on a lower branch of a tree.

“What can I do for you, Mother Platypus?”

“We need to find out what has caused the water not to flow. There has to be a reason the water stopped so quick. We need to search the area.”

Mister Kookaburra flew up to perch high in the gum tree.

His call to arms echoed through the bush land.

He called all the animals to come to a meeting.

Mother Platypus slapped her tail on the tree branch near the drying creek.

“Oh, please,” she shouted, to have the animals quieted to begin the meeting.

“We need to know where the water is disappearing to. Water has not been a big problem for us in the past. The water had flowed no matter how hot the summer.”

“I agree,” interjected Old Man Kangaroo. “The creek has never been dry in all my years of living here. I have witnessed many long, hot, and very dry summers.”

“Yeah,” said other older members at the meeting.

“We need to search along the creek,” encouraged Mother Platypus. “The faster animals take the top end of the creek and work backward. The slower ones of us will work up from here. Who ever finds the problem will send a message to the other searches. Good luck.”

The animals scattered far, and wide, to search out the reason why their water had slowed to a trickle, threatening to dry up.

The birds flew high above the treetops searching for evidence.

Word echoed through the bush land reporting their find.

Ground animals scurried through the undergrowth.

Mother Turtle struggled through the muddy water to make her way up the creek.

The animals stopped their search when the sun dropped below the horizon.

The animals were exhausted.

They decided to spend the night where they were to keep watch.

To make plans to solve their problem.

The rumbling noise echoed through the bush early the next morning.

The earth vibrated beneath them.

Rising dust swirled through the air coating the animals.

Bulldozers crawled across the land like hungry monsters.

Large sections of ground had been ripped bare.

Trees had been bulldozed to lay discarded in heaps on the ground.

Birds had flown for their lives when each tree fell.

Small animals scurried down the trees to reach a safe place.

The animals watched in horror.

Their homes were being torn down.

The animals watched from a safe distance among what trees still stood.

During the time the machines stood silent the animals made their way to the water to quench their thirst.

To have a swim to keep their body cool.

When the men had left the site the animals were busy with their plans.

Each animal who were able to dig began to work on the dirt barricade which spanned the width of the creek.

“Old Man Kangaroo,” called Mother Platypus.

The huge kangaroo hopped over to where Mother Platypus sat on a log while she directed operations.

“I want you to visit our human friend. Bring him here. He may be able to help us.”

Old Man Kangaroo set off through the bush land to find the house of Peter Toss. Peter was walking toward his land-rover when Old Man Kangaroo arrived.

Peter stopped walking.

He waited for his friend.

“Hello, Old Man Kangaroo. Long time since I've seen you. Where have you been. What can I do for you,” Peter patted the back of the kangaroo.

Thick, dark clouds of smoke rose above the top of the trees.

Old Man Kangaroo guided Peter toward the construction site.

Red angry flames ate a wide path through the bush land.

The animals moved fast to reach safety.

Water animals plunged into the creek where the water had been dammed.

They prayed the fire didn't jump the creek to spread to the bush land on the other side.

Peter jammed his foot on the brake to bring the land-rover to a stop.

He needed help.

Reaching forward, peter grabbed the radio to call for back-up.

“Come in, sire service. We have a bad situation.”

“Fire service. What's up Peter?”

“Large fire north of Pine Creek Racing fast toward the creek. Need help to stop it.”

By the time Peter arrived to where the animals were hidden the helicopters had arrived.

The helicopters flew over head dropping water from big bucket to put out the flames.

To stop the fire before it reached the creek.

Fire trucks arrived.

People arrived to help put out the smoldering cinders to stop the spread of the fire.

Others used hoses to dampen the ground to slow the fire advancing.

The fire people hard for many hours to bring the fire under control.

The men were surprised when they returned to their work site.

A large welcoming committee of people, and animals waited for them.

Each stood guard to make sure no more damage was done to the bush land.

The first of the men to arrive stayed locked in their cars.

An urgent call was made to the boss.

The boss arrived to sort out the problem.

“What are you people doing on my construction site,” yelled the boss, moments after slamming the car door.

“To stop this destruction,” said Peter, moving toward the boss.

“What destruction. We have been given permission to build a golf resort here,” growled the boss, heading to the site office to find the proof of his words.

Peter and the crowd followed.

They waited for the boss to produce the draft plans.

“There.” The boss held up the map with the area marked for the gulf resort.

Peter took hold of the map.

He turned the map around.

“This is where you are,” Peter pointed to the spot on the map.

“Here is where you should be.”

“Oh, no,” cursed the red faced boss. He had made a very bad mistake.

“You are destroying National Park Land,” explained Peter.

“Right, officers. He's all yours.” Peter stepped aside for the police to put the handcuffs of the boss before taking him away.

The people, and the animals, showed their joy when the boss was placed in the police car to be driven away.

The workers of the construction site were ordered to dig away the barrage to let the water flow. Water which had been dammed to use at the construction site.

The flow began with a trickle when the backhoe dug into the dirt wall.

Mother Platypus led the cheer squad when the first big gush of water flowed down the drying creek.

The construction company had to plant trees to replace the ones which had been torn down.

The whole area was to be regenerated to cover the ground to stop the topsoil from washing away, with the coming of the next rain.

Peter was cheered by the animals for the help in saving their homes.

For restoring the water to the creek.

The animals went back to their homes ready to fight another day to save their homes from destruction.

The Funny Farm

My name is Amos.

I live on a farm with my family

I am seven-years old.

My sister Kate is three-years old.

We live with our mother who takes care of us, And the animals.

On our farm there are many animals. We have pigs. Ducks. Chickens. Birds. Horses. Cats. The animals have to be fed every morning, and evening.

Our mother rises early every morning when the sun is reaching above the horizon to welcome in the new day.

The laugh of the kookaburra echoes up the valley to the top of the hills. We can't tell if he is happy, or sad.

One day, after a shower of rain, mother went down to feed the animals to find two baby kookaburra's in a deep trough of water. Each of them were flapping their wet wings to stay afloat. To keep their head above the level of water.

Water dripped from the feathers of the kookaburra when mother scooped them from the trough. She placed the both of them on the nearest, flat corrugated iron roof to keep them safe until they dried. When the feathers were dry both the kookaburras flew away to land on a high tree branch.

In the summer the heat burns the grass brown. We have to give the animals more food. With no green grass on which to feed all day, they had to wait until feeding time. Or nibble of the dry grass.

When the rain returns the grass turns green so the animals can eat all day. The horses are not so dependent on us for feed.

We have two horses. Kate helps to feed the horses because she like to pat them. In the warmer weather we hose the horses to keep them cool, and clean.

Goldie is a mare. She used to be a race horse in her past life. The owner retired her because she had been injured racing. She is brown. Nine-years of age.

The other horse was called Dawnella. She was a foal. Her mother died not long after her birth. The death was cause by the bight of a tick. I had to feed the foal with milk from a bucket. No way did she accept to be feed with a bottle. She didn't even like being watched while she fed. When I walked away leaving the bucket on the ground she'd eat. Her coloring was chestnut with a white blaze down the middle of her forehead.

The both horses galloped around the paddock. When they couldn't see each other one whinnied to call to the other, then return to walk, and feed, together on the grass, of hay.

In each sty I had a number of pigs. The pigs loved being sprayed with water. They stood in the way when the stall was being washed clean. When the cement was still wet they rolled around then lay in the sun to dry.

The piglet were very small. They kept escaping from the sty. Everyone had to chase them to put them back with the mother. Their mother was a large sow called Snorkie. She had a very long snout, She had given birth to ten piglet. Some white. Other black. Some black and white.

All the pigs rushed to the side of the sty to be patted, and scratched behind the ears. Most of the pigs had been born in the wild before coming to the farm. They had been tamed. Liked all the attention given to them.

There was a dog called Sam. He was jealous of all the other animals. He chased the horses around the paddock when no one was at home. Sam also chased the chickens, and the cats. Kate, and I, chased Sam to keep him away from the other animals. He was placed on a chain to let the animals have some peace.

On a winter's morning sneakers would be soaked when we walked through the grass to feed the animals. The blades of the grass white from frost, and dew. Beads of moisture fell toward the ground when the sun rose above the horizon. The birds chattered, and squawked to bring in the new day.

Sam trotted along after mother's heels watching for the first movement from any of the animals who may have escaped. He'd chase them before he was stopped. His pink tongue hung between his sharp teeth which lined his powerful jaw. Once his jaws had closed there was no way anyone was able to open them.

On arriving at the animal pens, and sty’s, Sam ran around the fence barking.

He snapped at the chickens, pigs, and ducks.

Drool dripped from his mouth at the thought of eating the animals.

He cast them a look of challenge.

Greed showed in his eyes.

He hoped for one to escape for him to chase.

Catch.

Kill.

Eat.

Sam was very fast.

Sly, and cunning.

“Sam. Leave the chickens alone.”

Sam didn't listen.

He grabbed one chicken by a wing

Mother grabbed him before he was able to hurt the chicken. “You naughty boy. Leave the chicken go.”

Sam looked guilty.

No way was he going to lose his ill gotten gains.

He wouldn't open his mouth.

He looked daggers at mother from where he cowered on the ground.

Sam had been watching for us to be too busy to keep an eye on him.

He had dived quick to grab the escaped chicken.

Sam was smart at playing dumb while waiting his chance to catch his prey.

He had waited until we walked over to the shed to collect hay for the horses. Gaining an opportunity Sam grabbed for the nearest chicken.

He ran around with the chicken hanging from his mouth.

The chicken tried to escape and made a lot of noise.

He lay on the ground ready to make a meal of the chicken.

Sam dared anyone of us to try to take his catch.

Mother straddled Sam.

She knelt on the ground to wedge Sam between her knees.

Took hold of his upper, and lower, section of his mouth to pulled open his mouth.

The fought a battle of wills, and strength.

Finally, mother won with her determined effort to pries open the mouth to set the chicken free.

The chicken was too scared to move.

The shock of a near death experience had frozen her movements.

Still holding Sam to the ground she picked up the chicken to put in the pen out of harms way. She placed it in one of the nest boxed to rest.

After the episode with Sam the chicken became known by the name of Roly-poly. Ever time it moved it toppled over to roll in the dirt.

“Look mother. The chicken is funny. He goes roly-poly.”

“The chicken was hurt. Naughty Sam hurt the poor chicken,” mother told Kate, who had not been there when it was saved from the jaws of death.

“Bad Sam. He hurt Roly-poly.”

From that day forward, the chicken was called Roly-poly.

The injured chicken turned into a proud bantam rooster. Every time he escaped from the pen Sam lay in wait to catch him. But Roly-poly was able to fly to escape to the roof of the pen.

He stood there to crow down at Sam.

Proud of his escape tactics.

He'd beaten the dog.

Last week, Roly-poly nearly met his Waterloo.

He fell off the fence around the sty.

Roly-poly fell into the feeding trough of the pigs.

The pigs were standing near the trough waiting for more food.

Roly-poly fell.

The pigs dived their heads into the trough to fight for the food.

Once again luck was on his side.

He missed falling into the trough.

He was wedged between the trough, and the fence, out of reach of the hungry pigs.

Mother climbed over the fence to save him from being eaten.

Even though he had been in many scrapes, he still stood up against the much larger roosters in the pen. One day while they were fighting, mother grabbed two plastic buckets to place over the roosters to stop them from attacking each other. When she had stopped the fight, she placed the roosters in different pens. Roly-poly stayed with the hens, and the other rooster was placed in the pen with the ducks.

Being a proud rooster Roly-poly struts around the farm. He is free to do so now Sam has been given away to a new home. A place where there weren't any animals for him to chase.

Peace reigned again with all the animals.

The cats are also free to roam without being chased by Sam.

Jade is a tabby colored cat.

She produced a kitten which became known a Smoggy.

Smoggy is a tortoise shell color. Mostly black with ginger, and white, patches.

When tine went by more kittens arrived. One called Ginger because of the coloring of its coat.

Stripes was the other. He was a striped tabby cat.

The cats followed mother every where.

To feed the animals.

To hang out the washing.

Stripes, and Ginger, thought they were helping by swinging on the towels hanging from the line. Or try to crawl in with the washing to play.

We had a rain water tank at the side of the house. If the rain didn't fill it we had to turn on the windmill. The tank was made of cement. We had to keep check on the level of the water to know when we needed to refill with the windmill.

A ladder stayed propped against the side of the tank for us to climb up to look in the hole, or use a stick to measure the level. On one occasion, when mother had taken her turn up the ladder to check the water she had company.

She had finished cleaning the leaves from the strainer.

Went to step down to the next rung.

“Look out for Stripes,” yelled Amos.

Mother turned to look what happened below.

Stripes was on his way up the ladder to reach the top of the tank.

He didn't stop.

He pushed his way between mother, and the ladder, to reach the top

When he had achieved his position on the tank he turned to look down.

Ginger raced around the tank to find a different way to make to the top of the tank.

He tried the large gum tree close to the tank but it wasn't close enough for him to jump.

Finally, he took a chance with the ladder to make his way to the tank.

The two of them made their way back down the ladder to reach the ground.

We had a duckling called Squeak.

He was the first of the batch to be hatched.

We took him away from his mother because she still had a job to do.

Mother didn't want her to walk away from the not hatched eggs.

He was placed in a box with a light bulb to keep it warm until big enough to put back in the pen when the other ones arrived.

Squeak was lonely for some time because he didn't have a mother, or friends, in the box to keep warm.

He was happy when he was big enough to put in the pen with the other ducks.

We had to make sure he was locked away where the foxes didn't catch him.

Squeak is happy in the coupe with the hen, and chickens.

They make a happy family.

No more duckling were hatched because Willy water rat sneaked into the nest and stole the eggs.

We were moving the piglets from one pen to another when one escaped.

He ran toward the bush.

He didn't escape for long.

He came racing home with Jade, Stripes, and Ginger chasing him toward the sty.

The piglet squealed to his mother for help to save him from the cats.

The scene looked so funny with the cats chasing the piglet.

His little legs scooted across the ground.

Dodged around bushes, and logs, to find his way home to his mother.

We like living on our farm.

You never know what is going to happen next.

Some of our friends call our home the Funny Farm. They have seen the antics of our animals but is hard for them to believe what their eyes were seeing.

“Those animals are not animals,” our friends tell us.

“We know that. They are our mother's other children.

Camelot

 The battle cry sounded.

A lone piper stood on the knoll playing a haunting tune.

Fierce warriors sat in the saddle with swords at the ready to begin the battle.

Eerie sounds echo in the mist surrounding the castle in the valley below.

Many booted feet trampled the ground for the men, and women, to be in place to stave off the attack of their unknown foe.

The beat of the hearts sounded in time to the beat of the advancing avengers.

Balls of fire rain down in the mist to set fire to the heaps of kindling branches stacked under the cover of darkness around the circumference of the castle walls.

The timber crackled in the heat of the moment.

Flames rose to cast eerie movement in the mist.

The heart pounded against the wall of her chest to be freed.

To escape out into the unknown territory of love.

A true love which had evaded her all her life.

The love of someone with whom to share a wonderful life together.

A fantasy love of which had invaded her dreams from a young age.

Dreams where a place where Rosanna went during the bad experiences during her tender years. Years in which her parents fought each other.

Tempers flare.

Voices rose.

Skin on skin contact when hands, and fists, connected.

The cry of battle raged well into the night.

Battle scared her father declared his undying love for her mother.

A promise made in the early morning to be broken when they meet after sundown.

In her fantasy world Rosanna wore rose tinted glasses where the flame of love never dimmed, or died. Love flourished to a bright burning flame never to be tainted with anger. Never to freeze the flame to become brittle to splinter to cause pain. To lay like dust at her feet.

There he stood.

Her prince.

He rose from the ashes of the battle of hearts to stand tall to receive her love.

Their hearts beat as one.

To be cherished with a sparkling flame of eternal love.

The walls of Camelot broken with a surviving love.

Helena

Helena stepped forward from among the rubble left by the explosion. With slightly apart she stabs the point of the newly acquired sword into the soil. “I have finally risen from my prison of enslavement. I am free from the rock. From this day forth, I will have a different path to travel no longer a slave to the wants, and woes, of those who surround me. The circle has been shattered to let in the sunshine, take away the darkness and tears from my world. I am no longer a strong weakling. I have been given powers to strengthen my resolves. I feel no pain. I am revitalized with energy to fight my way through uncharted waters. Those of you who wish for a better way of life, come join me to scale new horizons. Conquer our old fears of rejection and failure, to become the bright stars while we rage about past wrongs committed against us. We will be all powerful in the memory of those who come in contact with us.” She drew a deep breath to continue but was interrupted by Fairy Twinkle.

“Hmmm. Excuse me, Helena. Do you know which direction we will take.”

“You dare to challenge me. What insolence. I'm going,” she stopped to think, and decide, “that way.” Helena pointed to the way forward from where she stood.

“So you are going to attack Mount Saint Drew owned by the Emerald Emperor of nature. He will not like a woman to enter his hallowed forest on the mountain. He has forgotten those of us who supply his food. We struggle to grow food for him but he doesn't send us any rain to water the crops. The area has turned into a dust bowl Trees are dying from the lack of water. Fish no longer swim in the once beautiful lake now turned brown and muddy. The only bit of greenery there...was...was around the rock you watered with your tears.”

Helena held up one hand for Fairy Twinkle to stop speaking. “And who are you, my impetuous one, who dares to interrupt me.”

Fair Twinkle curtsied while she bowed her head. “I am Fairy Twinkle. M friends, and I, are so grateful for the tears you supplied to keep this little bit of soil wet to keep a few flowers, and some grass, alive for us to enjoy. With you rising from your enslavement we will no longer be able to grow food for us.”

“So why isn't the Emerald Emperor attending to the land of his subjects. He should be protecting the forests, farms, animals, and the inhabitants. Why isn't he doing so. Where is Thor. Why isn't he causing a storm to bring down the rain needed,” raged Helena.

“They have forgotten us all. They are too busy with other acts of enjoyment. But each God expects to find food at the ready when hungry. Water for them to bathe for their own comfort. We are the forgotten people.”

“No longer shall you be the forgotten people. We will march on Mount Saint Dew to remind the Gods of their duty to their subjects. Time to topple them from their throne of power.” Helena pulled her sword from the soil and raised it toward the sky. Power flashed from the point to race toward the lone, cobweb cloud. “Today we march on the Emerald Emperor to show him we are disgusted with his ruling of nature.” Lightning flashed over head. More lone threads of clouds joined in the game by joining together to make a massive dark storm cloud blocking out the sun. “Let's begin as we mean to move forward. The Emerald Emperor has been put on notice.” Helena shouldered her sword then took her first step to reclaim the land of the unforgotten people who had worked so hard to keep some little section of earth living. The Fairies, and animals, who stayed to watch over their patch cheered while dancing in the rain which had begun to fall.

Tulip

Didn't have a photo of a tulip so used an orchid instead.

Tulip

While I drove my car among the increased traffic, I listened to Tulip speak of the adversity of the calamitous event of her recent weeks. How the wild storm had struck causing much destruction, wrecking the lives of many families.

“I have never felt so useless, or helpless, in my entire life. There wasn't any way I was able to rescue my son, and his family. There I lay in my comfortable, safe bed, my home not surrounded by rushing flood waters within spitting distance. I was dry. I had electricity most of the time. I had food to eat. I went to bed with a full stomach. The ting I missed most was my cup of tea. I'm thankful for the flask of hot water you brought over. And the cooked meal you supplied.

But each night I went to bed, tears flowed to soak my pillow, because I felt unworthy as a mother, for I knew my son, and his family, were starving. Going to be with groaning, empty stomachs. I was stressed because I couldn't cook a meal to send over to them. They had no drinking water, or electricity. Luckily they have a swimming pool in which they could bathe. The first day they are able to cross the bridge I'll have a hot meal ready, waiting for them.”

I brought the car to a stop at her home to find the family waiting for her to come home. Even though she wanted to have the food taken inside to feed them, she had time to stop, say thank you, before going inside with her family.

Chef Dahl

I added the photo of a crab because this is a bit piece about a chef.

Chef Dahl, with meat cleaver in hand, chopped the piece of meat on the bench, There came knocking on the back door to the kitchen. Being the only one in the kitchen he went to the door.

“How dare you interrupt my cooking?” Chef Dahl stood with meat cleaver in hand.

“Shh. Are you mad. You never who might be listening.” The man looked over his left shoulder.

“Don't shoosh me. I am thee, Chef. I can bellow whenever I feel the need. Why are you here. I don't give handouts.”

“I don't want a handout. I have very fresh trout. You like to buy my trout.” The man turned his head to look over his shoulder again.

“Do you have a neck problem? Or do you have the Devil seated on your shoulder.”

“Devil. Where is he. I don't see him. I tried to ditch...”

“Ditch who. Ah. So the fish has been cooked.”

“No. Fresh from the stream. Not been near no fire.” He opened the bag on the ground to show his wares. Sniffs. “Fresh. You cook for your customers. Going at a very cheap price. One hundred dollars.”

Chef Dahl took a closer look at the fish in the bag. A recipe running through his mind. He shook his head. “Sorry. Too high. I give you twenty dollars. Take it, or leave it. That's my final offer.”

“Seventy-five. Fifty. I have seven children to feed. Have a heart.”

“You don't spend too much time fishing, do you. Twenty-five.” He moved back like he intended to shut the door.

“Okay. I take twenty-five.” He looked over his shoulder. His jerky body movements showed his nervousness. Picked up the bag to hand over to Chef Dahl when he was paid. Before money changed hands a shot rang out. The bargainer slumped to the ground shot in the back. With automatic reflex action Chef Dahl threw the meat cleaver to hit the shooter in the chest toppling him to the ground. He cursed. There were two dead men at the back door and a bag of stolen fish.

Cutting Firewood

Chop, chop, chop,                                                 One day I'll find

Rang out every day.                                              That continuous handle stack.

Chop, chop, chop,                                                 They will disappear

It's not a woodpecker at play.                                Then there will be nothing more to whack.

Chop, chop, chop,                                                I rode my bike,

The ax does fly.                                                     Lobbied by the waterhole.

Chop, chop, chop,                                                Winter breezed in

The wood pile grows high.                                    The weather turned cold.

Chop, chop, chop,                                                Stove burned day and night

Oh, my back does ache.                                       To keep the house warm.

Chop, chop, chop,                                                I would have to return to the heap,

Time I took a break.                                             Believe me I was torn.

Chop, chop, chop,                                               So I braved the chilly wind,

Some more chips do fly.                                      To chop, chop, chop,

Chop, chop, chop,                                               The noise rang in my ears,

The sun is sinking in the sky.                                 Warmed up, I chopped and chopped.

Chop, the ax stuck.                                              Sweat trickled beneath my jumper,

I breathe a sigh of relief,                                       Chop, chop, chop,

Time to go inside                                                  As I prayed for summer,

Before I come to grief.                                          Chop, chop, chop.

The wood pile grew high

With each passing day.

Please find some hardwood

I would pray.

Then I wouldn't have to chop,

If the blocks were too hard,

My father would have to take his turn,

That would be my trump card.

I would be able to rest

Beneath the shade of the tree,

Rest my hands, my aching back,

Wait for mum to call me for tea.

Many a handle broke,

But there was always a spare.

I rub the sweat from my face,

No rest for me, I do declare.

Ginger

I had a cat named Ginger,

A very docile cat indeed.

I dressed him in a doll's bonnet,

Dress and socks he did wear.

Ginger never struggled to escape,

When placed in my doll's pram.

I wheeled him around the yard,

Ginger would go to sleep.

I would sit on the swing which hung,

From the branch of the Jacaranda tree.

I'd patiently wait for Ginger to wake,

While practicing how to knit.

Needles were out, six inch nails were in,

My father would grumble,

When no nails could be found.

Wool would not slip on rusty nails,

So new ones had to be sought.

Ginger was my best friend,

The best I ever had.

Until that fatal day,

The train too fast.

Ginger to slow.

My best friend is no more,

Ginger had pushed his luck.

Just that once too often,

And the train won.