Tag Archives: Kylie Covark

The Wrong Wheels by Kylie Covark

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 When the humans were asleep

In nightgowns and nightcaps,

The midnight rat would creep inside

And feast upon their scraps.

 

The midnight rat was crafty,

The midnight rat was sly,

He’d always slink in shadows,

Unseen by human eyes.

 

But there was someone watching,

With eyes that gleamed in black,

The midnight rat could see him:

The cunning household cat.

 

The midnight rat was agile,

And cautious, quick and smart,

That cat could never catch the rat,

When the house was clothed in dark.

 

So the cat approached politely

And he bent down very low.

“Oh rapturous rat I love your work,

I do admire you so.

 

“But I would make a suggestion,

If I could be so bold.

A king like you should never dine

On scraps so soggy and cold.

 

“The humans have cake in the daytime,

And bread and scones and pies,

There’s so much good food in the daytime,

You wouldn’t believe your eyes.

 

“The only thing you really need,

Ask anyone who steals,

If you are going to make a getaway –

Is a brand new set of wheels.”

 

The rat told him to keep away

And ran off with his loot,

But then he started pondering

As he chewed on soggy fruit.

 

He was the Midnight Rat!

The cleverest rat by far!

It would be a snap for him

To build a speedy car.

 

And build away he did,

Though you may find it surprising,

The rat had made that car

By the time the sun was rising.

 

And he could smell the breakfast

And he didn’t stop to think,

The car whizzed straight inside

Faster than a blink.

 

And what a tale of glory!

What a momentous day,

The rat snatched a delectable haul

And was making his getaway.

 

But outside the car slowed

And the cat caught him with ease…

Instead of using tyres,

He had used four wheels of cheese.

 

As he watched them melting on the road

The rat knew we was done,

His greatest foe was not the cat

But that infernal sun.

 

The cat smiled a wicked grin,

“I never thought of that!

I think my favourite meal might be

Grilled cheese à la rat.”

 

Pigeon Grey by Kylie Covark

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Way down passed our shed,

Where the realm of humans ends,

‘Mongst the mottled bottle brushes

Live a hundred feathered friends.

 

And ninety-nine of those

Cavort and romp and play,

And the only one left out

Is poor old Pigeon Grey.

 

The magpies are quite striking

And the honey-eaters fair,

The rosellas are spectacular;

It’s tricky not to stare.

 

They gather in the bird bath

Where they primp and preen all day,

But when Pigeon tries to join them

They squawk, “Ew! Get away!”

 

 

 

And Pigeon Grey sighs deeply

Then he sits off on his own,

He watches on with envy

Wishing he was not alone.

 

If only they would speak to him

Those other birds would find

That Pigeon Grey is funny.

He is clever. He is kind.

 

But they all look down their beaks

At his feathers drab and grey,

And then rather than converse with him

They just squawk “Get away!”

 

Then one day there is twittering,

The garden is in shock.

Pigeon Grey has made a friend;

The new bird on the block.

 

And the whispers are quite snippy,

“That new bird she must be dull.

Perhaps another pigeon

Or an imbecilic gull!”

 

But the honey-eater sees her

And she has to look once more.

This new bird is not dull at all.

This bird is not a bore.

 

Her feathers start as brightest blue,

Then yellow, red, and green.

If the garden was a monarchy

Then she would be its queen.

 

There’s a hustle then to meet her,

A bustle and a fuss.

“You don’t have to sit with Pigeon Grey,

Come here and sit with us!”

 

But the lorikeet shakes her head,

“I’d rather stay right here.

The world seems so much shinier

When Pigeon Grey is near.”

 

The other birds they bristle,

“It simply can’t be true.

He is drab and dreary,

He’s not half as bright as you.”

The lorikeet looks surprised,

“You don’t know him at all.

Pigeon Grey is marvellous,

He’s famed beyond your wall.

 

“Have you not heard his music,

As he wakes the morning sun?

If you’ve spent the afternoon with him

Has it not been loads of fun?

 

“Have you seen him cheer a baby bird

As it first takes to the skies?

Have you heard him tell a funny tale

With laughter in his eyes?

 

“Have you come to him with worries

And been sure he’d listen well?

Have you taken on the sage advice

That he will freely tell?”

 

“If you’ve ever asked him for his help

Did he make you wait?

I’m sure that you must know the truth.

Pigeon Grey is great!”

 

Pigeon Grey is humbled

But as he looks around,

His neighbours will not meet his eyes;

They all stare at the ground.

 

But then a tiny bird agrees,

“Yes, Pigeon Grey’s the best!

He taught me to be brave

When I was scared to leave the nest.”

 

And others pipe up too

With their tales that spring to mind.

Indeed, each bird does seem to know

That Pigeon Grey is kind.

 

Way down passed our shed,

Where the realm of humans ends,

‘Mongst the mottled bottle brushes

Live a hundred feathered friends.

 

And each one of those hundred

Cavort and romp and play,

But the one they all love best of all

Is dear old Pigeon Grey.