Written after moving into a new house where possums ran olympics across and in the roof all night.
This was read at the 2019 "Reading or Writing Event"
It is after midnight when she wakes
And hears the sounds her new house makes.
Thank goodness, she’s the sturdy type
Who can ignore nocturnal tripe.
Not creaking wall, nor groaning roof
Not knocking pipe, but possum’s hoof
Oh yes, indeed, it is not news
That possums nightly don their shoes
And build their homes, with expert ease
Within the roof, not in the trees
They clump about with nails and hammer
“Look out there, don’t drop that spanner!”
They’ll work tonight and every night
You’d think by now they’d get it right
But, oh dear me, these plans are wrong
Why does construction take so long?
So back and forth they nightly scurry
Always in a frantic hurry
As though this night’s the only chance
They have their dwellings to enhance.
But as the day begins to dawn
They pick up tools and homeward yawn
To tree holes dark and safe and snug
To dream of strong foundations dug
Yet when the sun is on the wane
The nightly shift will start again
Dear possums, get it through your heads
That trees, for you, make better beds
And leave mankind on pillows deep
To spend its nights in peaceful sleep.