Hudson and the Wolf
In a meadow bright, where the sun shone gold,
Young Hudson lived, both brave and bold.
His father warned with a deep bass sound,
“Stay in the yard; the wolf’s around!”
But Hudson, carefree, in a sprightly tune,
Climbed the fence on a sunny afternoon.
Strings played lightly, alive and spry,
As Hudson gazed at the open sky.
A flute trilled high, so nimble and clear,
A bird’s sweet song flew near Hudson’s ear.
“Tweet-tweet!” it chirped in a melody fine,
“Beware of the wolf with his teeth that shine!”
Then from the pond with an oboe’s grace,
The duck appeared, slow in her pace.
“Quack, quack,” she said, her tune forlorn,
“The wolf is near; you’ve been forewarned.”
A clarinet chuckled—a cat prowled near,
Slipping through shadows with cunning cheer.
Soft and sly, she purred her phrase,
While Hudson’s strings danced in playful ways.
But out of the woods, with horns so low,
The wolf appeared, his menace in tow.
A growl, a snarl, his theme so dire,
The brass rang loud like a beast’s dark fire.
The duck cried out in the oboe’s wail,
Waddling fast, her courage frail.
But the wolf leapt close, his jaws open wide,
And the oboe got louder—the duck survived.
The bird fluttered high with the flute in flight,
Distracting the wolf with her notes so light.
Hudson, the strings, wove a daring plan,
To catch the beast with his own two hands.
Climbing a tree with the ropes in tow,
The timpani rumbled, the tension would grow.
The bird darted near with a trill so bright,
While Hudson moved quick in the fading light.
A toss, a pull—the horns roared wild,
But Hudson was clever, a daring child.
The wolf was caught, his brass now bound,
As hunters arrived to the timpani’s sound.
“Let him live,” Hudson’s strings declared,
“Back to the woods, his life be spared.
His tune belongs in the forest deep,
Not here where peace and meadows sleep.”
Father’s bass gave a stern, slow sigh,
As the music softened, the wolf passed by.
And in the meadow, with colors so clear,
The orchestra played for all to hear:
The bird’s flute soared, the cat’s clarinet,
The duck’s oboe theme that we will never forget.
Hudson’s strings danced, triumphant and free,
And the forest sang with harmony.
A Little Bugged Out
Down in a garden, not far from a rose,
Lived tiny wee creatures with many wee toes.
They crept and they crawled in the soil and the sun,
Each had a job, and they made work feel fun.
Izzy the Ant was as strong as could be,
She carried big crumbs back home to her tree.
“I’ve got six legs and antennae that wiggle—
When I march with my friends, we jiggle and giggle!”
Spidey the Spider came swinging down fast,
From a silk-threaded web he had skillfully cast.
“I’m not an insect,” he said with a smile,
“But I help in the garden—it’s really my style!”
“I’ve eight legs, not six, and no wings to flap,
But I trap pesky bugs with my web as a trap.
I’m an arachnid, and proud of it too,
Just one of the friends that are part of this crew!”
Millie the Millipede peeked from a rock,
Her legs moved in waves—tick-tock, tick-tock!
“I may not be quick, but I clean every day.
I munch on dead leaves and clear them away.”
Buzzing and darting came Buzz the bold Fly,
With wings that went “zzzzz” as he zipped through the sky.
“Insects like me are the kings of the air!
With my great flying skills, no one can compare!”
Izzy said, “Buzz, that just isn’t fair—
We all have our talents, we all do our share!”
Spidey caught bugs, and Millie cleaned too,
And Izzy built tunnels the raindrops flew through.
Then came a storm with a rumble and crack,
The wind knocked the flowers, the sky turned black!
“Oh no!” shouted Buzz. “The puddles are deep!”
“We’re losing our homes!” Izzy started to weep.
“Don’t worry,” said Spidey, “I’ll string up a line.
We’ll climb up together—it’ll all work out fine!”
“I’ll carry dry leaves!” Millie said with a puff.
“And I’ll scout ahead!” Buzz cried, acting tough.
They worked side by side till the sunlight returned,
The puddles had dried, the flowers re-learned
To stand tall and strong in the soft garden bed—
And all of the bugs built new homes instead.
So now when you spot something creepy or small,
With eight legs or six or a hundred in all,
Remember: each creature you meet has its place—
In the soil, on the wall, or the green garden space.
Insects and spiders and critters galore—
From beetles that click to bees that roar—
They all play a part in the life that you see…
Even the ones that might make you say, “Eee!”
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