River Crossing Poem by Denis Martindale

The tired tiger plodded on...
So weary 'neath the sun,
In hopes that soon fatigue was gone,
In truth, it wasn't fun...
The day began quite fancy free,
With sunshine oh so warm,
But then, oh, dear, what misery
It felt upon his form...

His back was sore from head to stern,
His tail was drooping low,
His eyes were frizzled, fit to burn
And yet, not far to go...
The river crossing soothed his soul,
It felt beyond belief,
This was his favourite waterhole
For it brought such relief...

He waded further, deeper now,
Legs dangling here and there,
With much less frowns upon his brow,
He swam without a care...
He breathed in long and deep, content,
His troubles melted fast
And crossing, on his travels went,
No longer quite downcast...