When asked the way the world works,

I gave an answer with some quirks.

As the gears spun in my head,

This is what I actually said:

The world works in a wondrous way,

I’ll begin with but a single day.

The sun is something truly neat,

Turned on a wheel pedaled by your feet.

The moon then comes thereafter,

In shapes like children’s laughter.

Clouds are nothing much of mystery,

When you consider their ghostly history.

You may not know how stars are made,

Would you believe a candlelight parade?

With rain you never know what you get,

But when elephants play it’s always wet.

For snow it’s even more fantastic,

Cut from patterns made of plastic.

For wind it’s never quite the same,

The singing lady’s the one to blame.

Thunder is really easy,

But only when your stomach’s queasy.

Therefore it’s difficult to complain,

When these things are so simple to explain.

And though it might not all be true,

I wish it was, how ‘bout you?

The gophers are leaving!

That’s what I heard.

I refused to believe it,

Not a single darn word.

But then a gopher passed by,

With a lantern in hand,

To travel all night,

Till he reached the sand.

Then on the ocean,

He would start his new life,

To live on a boat,

With his children and wife.

“But why?” I questioned,

Thinking it a joke,

And he said quite simply,

“It began with a poke.”

Then he continued on,

Much to my disbelief,

To explain the origins,

Of his newly found grief.

“It was a sunny afternoon,

And I burrowed like any other,

Digging myself over,

To visit my mother.

But then came a girl,

She was holding a stick,

Laughing and stomping,

With jabs lightning quick.

I dove and I dodged,

And I scurried all over,

Desperate for cover,

I tunneled ‘neath clover.

But it wasn’t enough,

I could not hide,

With one fateful thrust,

She poked my pudgy side.

My fur stood up,

I let out a shriek,

Then darted away,

I was sore for a week!

But that wasn’t all,

There was more yet to come,

When I was on my way back,

To visit my mum.

The ground from above,

It started to quake,

That girl had returned,

For goodness’ sake!

She dug and she groped,

And tried to unearth me.

With nowhere to go,

I started to worry.

Her feet were enormous,

They squashed my tunnel flat,

I would be next,

And that would be that.

Quickly I acted,

Her hand closing fast,

Around my fragile little body,

She would catch me at last.

So I dug down deeper,

Under the road so thick,

Where her hands could not grab me,

Nor poke me with her stick.

But under such places,

Gophers are not meant,

For we are easily trapped,

Under cement.

I searched for the surface,

Like a fish under ice,

Days before I got out,

Three to be precise.

That’s when I decided,

Now out of that fix,

To the ocean I must go,

Where there’s no girls or sticks!”

And with his story now told,

It was easy to see,

Why this poor little gopher,

Had no choice but to flee.

Follow fireflies through forest dark,

Where shadows dance by lightning’s spark,

And voices whisper in the mist,

In places where the branches twist.

Travel quickly and hurry fast,

The lessons learned from those who passed,

Teach us, dear child, that roads will fade,

For not all journeys can be made.

And if your world does grow dimmer,

Take rest by pools of moonlight shimmer,

Where dreams let go and once subdued,

Are found again to be renewed.

Forget, dear one, of your despair,

For in the morning you shall be there,

To see the light of a brand new day,

Of calm, of comfort, of peace to stay.

Once great Bells hung in our sky,

Having flown to us from worlds nearby.

They hovered and spun and shone so pretty,

As they played a song above the city.

Like ice cream trucks they chimed and rang,

The people gathered, they danced and sang,

To the tune that played from afar:

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

The hour was cold, but we did not care,

For something special filled the air,

And the Bells they played to our hearts’ delight,

Before they left us that winter’s night.

We look now to the stars with minds that wonder,

What they are and what spells we’re under;

And whether we will ever know the reason why,

Once great Bells hung in our sky.

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