At night when humans are asleep
And curtains are closed tight,
The bookworm creeps along the shelf
And eats alone at night.
He scours the leaves of poetry books
For things he really likes.
He licks his lips at what he finds
And then he starts to strike.
He munches sonnets by the score
He chomps iambic feet.
As for children’s nursery rhymes,
He finds that they’re too sweet.
Minibeasts? Mmmm just the thing,
But hippos? Much too big!
There was the time he found a poem
And then he ate the pig.
He thought about the pig a lot
Before he did the deed.
Then grabbed it squealing from the page -
Such was his bookworm greed.
He munches poems of fairyland,
Loves dragons which breathe fire
And ghastly monsters, dinosaurs -
All meet with his desire.
One character he hasn’t caught,
The one he cannot see
The one who is invisible –
Our good friend Mickledy-Me!
Copyright on all my poems
The children would murder me if I let the bookworm eat their favourite character. Josie