In a sacred forest
a Rodent roamed
who owned a sword
it freely loaned.
This was no hacking
machete blade,
but made of metal
of unmatched grade.
One day Lightening
made a request:
To borrow the blade
believed the best.
Lightening zigged,
sliced, and zagged.
Claiming ownership
in its boastful brags.
The rightful owner
requested its return.
But the rodent’s
plea met only spurn.
So the critter devised
a clever, sensible plan
in order to bridge
the requisite span.
It needed to climb
from Earth to the sky
because it had no
wings with which to fly.
But it wasn’t just wings
which Rodent lacked.
It had only one item
to be skyward stacked.
So it piled its poop
as high as it could,
from the base of a tree
past the top of the woods.
Stacking and piling, the
poop nearly touched cloud.
When a thunder crack
struck ear-splitting loud.
Lightening saw rodent
would reclaim the sword
that Lightening had come
to so ardently adore.
Down fell the Rodent
to a pile of fried dung
that had once been its
steps and its ladder rungs.
You may think that
Lightening got its way.
But the Rodent piles
its poop to this very day.
Someday when Lightening
is momentarily distracted,
Rodent’s sword will be
surreptitiously extracted.
