When Ma has stopped her sweeping
And Pa snuffed out the lamps
And all the world is sleeping
It’s time for tales by Gramps
In slow and mellow whispers
The stories start to roll
Of far and distant mountains
And creatures odd and droll
Tonight we hear the scampers
Of tiny little feet
And squeaks and muffled scratches
Of mice who seek a treat
But Grandpa won’t believe it:
“That’s not a mouse at all
But a rare riding rodent
From tall peaks of Nepal
“He drives a little buggy
Bright red with wheels of green
And steals all pretty teacups
From folks asleep in dreams
“For in the Himalayas
There’s lots of spice and tea
But pretty cups and saucers
Are seldom to be seen
“So if your Ma should ask you
Where her nice cup could be
Just tell her it’s been taken
To Nepal for their tea.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Glad you passed on the fable for new generations, lovely