There Was a Grasshopper
There was a grasshopper in my porridge, and he had stopped hopping,
But luckily I found him before he was one hundred percent gone.
I fished him out with a silver spoon, and his eyes popped open,
He looked hopeful.
His eyes were yellow, but tender.
Not buggy or anything, no offense.
There was a grasshopper on the counter now, and I gave him mouth-to-mouth.
His little chest was heaving, and he looked grateful.
I knew he was socialized, for he closed his eyes,
He looked respectful.
His breathing started to settle down.
Not disgusting or anything, no kidding.
There was a grasshopper on my sewing table, hopping around, clapping his claws.
His happy chirps led me to believe he knew what I was about.
I made him an entire winter wardrobe, it being winter.
He looked dashing
His black fuzzy zip-up suit looked lovely,
Not too tightly-fitted, just right actually.
There was a grasshopper once upon a time, named Poindexter.
He had summer clothes, winter clothes, and spring clothes.
He hopped outside one fine summer day, and was stolen
By faeries,
My perfect little man.
So he never got the fall clothes.
They sit on my sewing machine, waiting.
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