Happy Skunk

I wander happy as a Skunk
Around the Milky Way
My body sober, head quite drunk,
This fine and Skunky day.

I am a ten-year-old you see,
In basements I do dwell,
I only leave to have a pee
And go to school as well.

If I could whistle like a frog,
A millionaire I’d be,
If I could shuffle like a dog,
A stick they'd throw for me.

But I can only do my sums
The tables of my times,
At last my English lesson comes
And I can do my rhymes.

My little rhymes, so sweet and pure
Make people howl with rage
You’d think it stinky horse manure
They saw upon the page.

How could you write a thing like this?
Where is your gravitas?
You’re only trying to take the piss,
So shove it up your pass.

You bring our site to disrepute,
You make us look absurd:
Real poems should be tough as boot,
Not flighty as a bird.

Why do you never speak of love?
Or lit’rature or God?
Your poems stink to heav’n above,
You nasty little sod.

But I’m a happy little Skunk,
My poems soft as fleece;
If you think I’m a vicious punk
I beg you go in peace.

There’s room in life for many rhymes,
Let many tales be told,
Of simple things and happy times,
Of youth that won’t grow old.

You want me in life’s monastery,
A sad and lonely monk?
Say what you will, I’ll always be
A happy little Skunk.