"Quokkas and Quails I shall invite, "
Said a Queen organising a Quiz night,
"Under the Quandong trees,
There's a lovely breeze,
For games of Quoits, where you throw,
Hoops onto sticks, in case you don't know.
We'll have Questions about Quarks,
And other Quantum remarks."
The button Quails,
Ate brown snails,
And Quandong drups,
From green leaf cups,
To Quell their hunger,
And make them feel younger,
Using Quandong moths,
As little table cloths.
In a world of fantasia,
They ate Quinces from Asia,
Quivered at tales of the tiger Quoll,
Who lived in a hole,
And attacked the nests,
Of Quetzal bird guests,
In Quassia trees,
Whenever they please.
Then they all sang a song,
Under the Blue Quandong,
Of a world without Quarrels,
And impeccable morals.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
drup? but, if Diane liked it, it can't be all bad. because i already put 'spider in pencil case' poem in April's showcase yesterday, AND i'm still limiting a poet's 2nd poem each month to about 24 lines, i'll put this one in April's as your 2nd poem. i'll try to remember to get either hare or zonkey' poem in May, and maybe both if i decide to allow a longer (enough) 2nd poem. bri :)
When I researched this poem I found an article on Quandong trees that talked about the fruit being 'drups'. I couldn't resist working it into the poem.