Ripples Poem by Denis Martindale

With his turned up nose and whiskers
At all that life could bring,
The tiger known as Sour Puss,
Would growl at anything!
He loathed the sun, he loathed the rain,
He loathed the clouds above,
In fact, he was a royal pain,
With nothing much to love...

But when he found the silver stream
Where ripples were at play,
He changed, as if now in a dream,
They really made his day...
His whiskers arched in great surprise
And then he tip-toed in...
Forced to agree that it felt nice
Upon his tiger skin...

'Oh, yes! ' he said, 'This sure feels good! '
He grinned from ear-to-ear!
As if confirming that he would
Be soon returning here...
He watched the ripples mesmerised,
As they danced to-and-fro...
Their spectacle so highly prized,
He didn't want to go...