There was a possum at the door
Feasting on mole-crickets by the score.
In truth, he could barely see
The bounty provided there for he (or she.)
With the light shown through the window clear
He sought out those both far and near.
To aid him, on went the outdoor light.
He showed not a sense of fright.
Continuing as before,
Even coming up to look through the glass-paned door.
Then returned to his quest
Of putting more crickets to their deaths.
Fidget (the cat) , that is her name
Looked out and he outside, looked in, the same
Deciding that there was no danger, or a threat
Both went their way, without regret.
And the possum is there no more.
s
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem