Wombat

Let me tell you a story, a long time ago,
Through scorching days and driving snow,
There lived an old wombat, never spoke to anyone,
Not even his daughter, not even his son.

One day he awoke, it was a tiny young mouse,
Who came charging at him, and into his house,
The mouse had explained, in a hurried little voice,
That he should get out, and not stay here by choice.

The wombat ignored him, and went back to sleep,
The mouse walked off sadly, out of the wombats keep,
And soon it was silent, so he could rest,
He really liked sleeping, the wombat confessed.

The next day another noise, a squirrel ran in,
He was huffing so heavy; he didn’t know where to begin,
He offered the wombat, to play a game of tag,
But the wombat just grunted, and nestled in his crag.

Another day passed, another came by,
I wish they would go away, he said with a sigh,
I’m too old to do anything, and play with my friends,
I think I will be grumpy, right up till the end.

Late one night, an owl flew straight down,
You’d better get up, he said with a frown,
But the wombat just stayed there, alone in his hole,
He was totally unaware, what was about to unfold.

He saw glowing red, in amongst all the trees,
Why can’t everyone, just leave me in peace,
The glowing moved closer, he started to care,
He ran from his burrow, and got out of there.