A Poem by Natasha Lomov
The bunyip cooked a soup for tea,
Then he had no bread, you see.
He used a doily to mop the broth,
Which only angered Mr. Moth.
“That doily is a delicacy,
For little moths like me!
It’s really all I have to eat,
That doily is my treat!”
The bunyip said, “I have no bread!
There’s no other way I can be fed!”
They cried and wailed to no avail
Till night did cast its inky veil.
A peaceful slumber was not their prize,
For a neat solution did not arise.
But through the window, they stared in awe,
A wondrous sight they couldn’t ignore!
They rushed outside to greet the scene,
The neighbors muttered, “How obscene!”
“It’s flour! It’s flour”, they cried and cried,
As the white powder fell, they greedily eyed.
Flour melted beneath their feet,
As they were collecting their ticket to eat!
Armed with bowl, equipped with sieve,
They finally felt a will to live!
On top of their houses, the flour did fall,
Even birds forgot to sound their call.
The cosy white blanket didn’t distract
Two hard-working bakers and that was a fact.
Finally! At last! It all paid off!
All their hard work wasn’t a scoff!
The two new friends could finally eat,
But bunyip’s soup had lost its heat.