My urchin had been out in the cold, wet rain,
He needed to be warmed and dried.
I gave him a rub with a teatowel,
But he got friction burns and cried.
So I had a go with a hair dryer,
But the draught made him roll and slide.
Then I thought of the microwave,
In which food is cooked and fried.
I popped him in for an hour and half,
After which he exploded far and wide.
He's rather ungrateful for my efforts,
But at least I can say that I tried!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem