Tiptoe softly ’mongst the stones, be cautious where you tread. Only speak in a whispers or you may just wake the dead.
Be suspicious and alert to what your senses may perceive. The eerie sounds may be much more than just the rustling of the leaves.
You mustn’t linger ’round the tombs, make haste and do not dawdle. Use common sense and vigilance lest you encounter something awful.
So tiptoe softly ’mongst the stones, be stealthy as a snake. The dead can be congenial but not when they’re awake!
A Hairy Problem
Last evening when I went to bed my face was smooth and bare, so just imagine my surprise when I woke with facial hair! It happened rather suddenly, I know it might sound weird, but somehow in the dark of night I grew a mustache and a beard!
I’ll try to make the best of things and accept this odd transition, but these changes have now placed me in a precarious position. For though I look distinguished, I’m in quite an awkward mess. This abnormal growth of whiskers doesn’t match my brand new dress!
My family has some little quirks I’ve had the bad luck to inherit, like a twitchy nose, two big ears and an appetite for carrots.
My legs are both enormous so I hop from here to there. And someone’s placed a cotton ball upon my derriere.
Aside from that I’m rather plain though some say I look funny. I’m just your average 8 year old who looks like the Easter bunny!
What’s in a Name?
They’ve branded me a brigand, and barefaced buccaneer, a murderous marauder, picaroon and privateer.
I’ve also earned the epithets of rapscallion and rogue, as well as fiendish freebooter; a brute whose blood runs cold.
I’ve innumerable nicknames, every moniker you can muster, including scurvy sea dog, corsair and filibuster.
But of all the appellations which the masses find amusing, please just call me pirate- you’ll find it less confusing.
I Wanna Be a Wallaby
I wanna be a wallaby or perhaps a wallaroo, who romps around the outback and plays a didgeridoo. I’d be an awesome Aussie with a slim but sturdy tail, two back legs like steel springs and a kick as tough as nails.
I’m not keen on a koala nibbling eucalyptus leaves, nor a shady sugar glider that glides from tree to tree. I don’t picture me a platypus goanna or emu, a dingo or a wombat or a clumsy kangaroo.
I wanna be a wallaby, a joey, Jack, or Jill, a remarkable marsupial, not a lizard with a frill! If I were a wallaby how happy I would be. Oh, I want to be a wallaby and not a wannabee!