The Lemon Possum


Once there was a possum,
Whose name was Bill,
And every night,
His gut he would fill.

When the skies were dark,
He would go off and rummage,
Through myriad bins,
To find the most delectable rubbish,


This little ritual,
He’d perform every night,
What we’d call disgusting,
Would sate his appetite.


But then one evening,
Our grey little fellow,
Came upon a possum,
Whose fur was bright yellow.

‘Who are you?’
Bill asked the possum so large,
(He didn’t mind she was different,
He wasn’t Nigel Farage.)

‘I am the Lemon Possum,’
She said with a smile,
‘Why do you eat rubbish?
It’s rancid and vile!’

‘But I find it delicious,’
said Bill, ‘It’s the best!’
‘No,’ said Lemon Possum,
‘Put that notion to rest!

‘You want to eat from bins?
You have no imagination!
Let me introduce you to
A new eating sensation!’


She conjured up ice cream,
She conjured up sweets,
She conjured up chocolate
And sugary eats!

‘What is all this?’
asked Bill, quite surprised.
All these things had such colour,
It was like a punch to the eyes.

‘They’re good things to eat,
And giving them out is my job!’
And she took a jelly baby,
And shoved it down his gob.

‘That was delicious,’
said Bill, ‘Give me more!’
And on cakes and on ice cream
Our possum did gorge.

His whole life was then spent
Eating loads of sweeties,
But he became fat
And got diabetes.



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