a little baby finger tickled
the large pot-belly,
but the heavy sleeper slept on,
out like a rock

the giggling tot
mischievously said, ‘again!’
wiggly-wormy fingers dug in,
but the loafer was idle,
simply a fat lump.

it’s well known, little kids don’t give up,
and indeed, not this little tyke
who thought the slumberer was playing,
pretending to ignore

with renewed resolve, the babe dug in,
claw-like, with all its strength,
hoping to get a rise,
but the stoic sleeper slept on

somehow, the child knew,
‘this is lug is dead, but I’m laughingly alive,’

jubilant, it pushed with all its life, shouting
‘get out of my way you dead lump!’

cracking through the granite boulder,
the giggler stretched out
new green fingers
to greet the sun.

…

..

.

© –Limericist 2007