Of mosquitos

In yonder wood where hedges grow,
Lives prickly beast, a humble show.
Ye hedgehog, snug in leafy bed,
Seeks slumber for her weary head.

Mosquitos, pests of twilight scene,
They throng and thrum with questions mean.
Their voices thin and grating shrill,
Doth disturb the woodland’s still.

“Why does the sun rise in the East?” they ask,
“Why does the moonlight wear such silver mask?”
“And why the robin’s breast so red?”
To which, the hedgehog shook her head.

“I dinnae ken,” she did groan,
These queries to her were unknown.
She turned to her friend, the cunning cat,
Hoping that he could deal with that.

The feline, sleek with wisdom deep,
Who spoke the language of the insects’ peep.
“Hush now, Hedgehog, fear not the fray,
I’ll converse with these pests, send them away.”

His green eyes gleamed in the darkening night,
As he took on the insects’ impertinent flight.
Hedgehog, at ease, then closed her eyes,
Whilst Cat wove words ‘neath the starry skies.

By dawn’s first blush, when Hedgehog stirred,
No mosquitoes’ hum could be heard.
Relieved, she queried of the feline sly,
“Where did those bothersome pests fly?”

The Cat, with a grin that told of his feat,
Responded, “I debated them, in a manner most neat.
And let’s just say, they’ve learned their part,
In a debate of a kind… only a Cat could start.”

His whiskers twitched, a secret keep,
Yet Hedgehog, relieved, fell into sleep.
From then on, the mosquitoes kept their refrain,
And the Hedgehog’s slumber was never again a bane.







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