What the Possum Said

More years ago than I can tell
A Human Thing came here to dwell
In this, our leafy forest place,
It has a foolish sort of face
And walks, like birds, upon two legs;
Yet, unlike birds, does not lay eggs
(The possum said).

They grow strange trees, these Human
Things;
Some with a bitter taste that stings
And burns upon the tongue, yet, some,
Juicier, sweeter far than gum
(The possum said).

Night comes
(The possum said),
I and my chums
Steal from our sheltering gums
To sample the exotic fare
The Human Thing grows there.

When we have eaten our fill
And night grows very still
And the mopokes call
And the lights from the house are all
Out, then, Hi for the rout!
’Twixt midnight and the day,
This is the time for play.

Off and away we go
Over the roofs as the moon swings low.
Up and down we chase and round and round
The whole night long.
It makes a most delightful playing ground.
And, when we land upon it with a “Plong!”
It makes a lovely booming sound
(The possum said).

Then, sudden, from beneath us as we play,
Scampering, thumping in our merry way,
There comes a shout—
A silly, babbling cry.
’Tis but the Human Creature calling out.
It can not sleep.
Its voice grows fierce and high.
But what care we? We run, we leap
Upon the sounding roof-top in our play.
Ho! Let it call away.
Why should the silly Creature sleep at night?
Such habits are not right
(The possum said).

They have their uses after all,
These Human Things that call
And rave at night,
So easy to affright.
Their trees are sweet;
Their roofs make merry sounds beneath
our feet . . . .
Now, as the East grows bright
And morning comes,
One final jump,
One last, loud, joyous thump,
And away to our nests in the gums.