It was dark and the light was low,
As the smudgely sun rose from the west,
All was quiet in the lands beneath,
As soundly snored Cossipore.
The migress rose from her hollowed den,
Cubs gambolling at her pawly feet,
She let out but a mighty roar,
Waking Cossipore from his sleep
Up he got from his bedly loft,
Shouting the bouse down in a rage,
Took his bowgun from the croft,
Set out for a bloody war to wage.
He found the migress as she quickly ran,
By the pebbly babbling forest brook
Taking aim he shot her with his arrow swift,
Making her every cuddly cub an orphan.
Piteously cried the little cubly band,
As mamma lay dead near the mandering stream,
And Cossipur returned home to sleep again,
And of cabbages and kings once more to dream.
It was dark and the light was low,
As the smudgely sun rose from the west,
All was quiet in the lands beneath,
As soundly snored Cossipore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem