#431
Possibly a Story
Possibly the Possum,
Off to town,
Riding his pony,
Short, black and brown.
This time his quest
Was food for his clan;
An apple, a pear,
That was his plan.
Instead, what he found,
In a strange neighborhood,
Was cornbread with butter;
So he took what he could.
He packed up the pony,
He crawled to the saddle;
Possibly rode hard
In his haste to skedaddle.
He made it to Knockford
Before the dogs came.
He climbed a near tree,
For the pony went lame.
Possibly sat there
On a high branch
Munching his cornbread,
Taking a chance;
He couldn't play dead,
For they'd rip him apart,
Especially the dachshund,
Who almost was smart.
So he sat there and ate,
His cornbread with butter;
While the dogs barked,
He only could mutter.
The moral of this tale
Of Possibly the Possum,
Though not in plain sight
Until you hit bottom,
Is don't get involved
With a neighborhood thief,
Unless you're prepared
For a shirt-load of grief.
Possibly escaped
To tell his long story,
And lived to grow old,
Short, grey, and hoary.
An ending.