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How doth thy little bumblbee
Fly neath thy largish rump
That waggles fro thee bushes;
O pity the bent Futershrump!
As it wobbles past those starring,
And Jasper on the ledge,
One might warn thee small buggies ‘cuz if she leans, “splat” their dead…
She goes for breakfast numnums, bounding down the hall,
She then scampers in for lunchy, teatime…then perhaps lunch again…
Gravity is helpful whilst going down the stiars,
But when sitting down again she looks most like a pear!
Her belly is so roundy, fuzzy and perfect white,
One might believe a basketball coule be born quiet alright.
We love our “little” fatty, also called Lucca when formality calls,
We just can’t deny feeding that kitty with the green eyes that are as round as beach balls.
