by Nick Gisburne
’Twas a wedding in the wettest nook of night
On a ship with seven captains, and a ghost
Many moons, with many faces, gave their light
To a zoo of tiny creatures, eating toast
From the spider, with a hundred wooden feet
To the antelope, in terror of its toes
And a troubled hippopotamus called Pete
All inhabiting a teapot, nose to nose
In this minuscule menagerie of life
And remember, only three have been discussed
Were the pocket-sized companions of the wife
Who had smuggled them to safety in her bust
Could this pot of puzzles prosper? It could not
For the tigers, ever hungry, ate the lot
