Leaden and bumbling, he stumbled and bled.
Oh bummer, he mumbled, my bum is so numb –
it would have been better to land on my tum!
At this, his tum grumbled – it wanted some bread –
though fat and well-rounded and recently fed.
He tried to roll over – to get off his bum,
but, finding it rooted, he called for his mum.
His mum, she walked past him, befuddled on rum,
and poor man, he lay there, until he was dead!
In time, where he’d fallen, the ground was his bed.
Next, in that same spot, grew a tree – plump and red!
Copyright of poem owned by Jay Cool, June 2019
Please see other posts, relating to trees, by Jay Cool: