Pond Competition Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

While the beaver was out on a midnight haul,
To shore up a leak in his bedroom wall,
A sneaky otter with a slippery grin,
Decided he'd like to move right in.

He slid through the tunnel, sleek and fast,
Thinking, 'A house that's built to last!
No more sleeping on freezing stones,
I'll rest my weary, aquatic bones.'

He found the bed of shredded bark,
And curled up tight in the cozy dark.
He dreamed of trout and a life of ease,
Doing exactly as he'd please.

But then came a thump and a heavy tread,
As the master builder returned to bed.
The beaver stared with his small dark eyes,
At the uninvited, furry surprise.

He didn't scold or start a fight,
He just gave his tail a mighty smite!
WHACK! went the water, a thunderous sound,
That shook the lodge from the roof to the ground.

The otter bolted, a blur of grey,
Out the door and far away.
'I think, ' he chattered, 'I'll stick to the creek,
That landlord's got a terrifying technique! '

Now the beaver sleeps with a watchful ear,
Keeping his private quarters clear.

T.M.Solvang