The Girl and the Gopher

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.