|A TALE OF WOOL AND|
I can't sleep.
|Sorry , but|
you have to.
|But I am|
not sleepy !
|Lay down in your bed and count the sheep !|
|Come on, Mister Turtle ! There are no sheep in this house !|
|You silly !|
Hee hee !
|Not REAL ones,|
sheep in your head !
|In... in my HEAD ?!|
EEEE ! But how did they get in ?!
|Forget it. I'm gonna tell you a story.|
|Are you comfy ?|
|I'm going to tell you tale,|
Which is odd yet authentic,
Of a very unusual child,
|They called him |
« The Porcupine Kid ».
|They say to whoever would hear|
That this strange fellow was born
From the union of a sweet florist woman
And a talented fashion designer.
|Although frightened at first|
By the child's prickly quills,
They gave him love and comfort
(while wearing fleece-lined gloves).
|They named their son Peter,|
A very nice name I must say,
And put him in public school
The year he turned ten.
|But though his marks where A-rated,|
Making him first of his classroom,
|He felt lonely and neglected|
When the trees started to bloom.
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