The Haquarious Twoo Poem by Nick John Whittle

The Haquarious Twoo is a most wondrous beast
Who loves nothing more than an aqueous feast
In willow pattern dishes made entirely of lint
Laid out on a table of nose-crafted flint.

All this in a tiny droplet of water!
It's true and astounding but to tell you I ought-a
For a Twoo feels its most safest and soundest
When tucked up within a watery roundest.

Though Twoos do live in the strangest of ways
(In a manner to which we'd not live our days)
Never believe that un-made were their hays
Or their watery homes weren't the finest of stays.

They marry, have driplets and laugh at things humorous
Which is why at the start I remarked how haquarious:
A word that well describes such creatures as these
Who live their magnificent lives in the sea.

Let me tell you a little about one of these beings
Miss Lucy Twoo who, at one hundred and threeing
Had lived a fine life and had quite a blast
And was happy with all her present, future and past.

She had a huge family of Twoo-drips and Twoo-drops
Whom she loved much more than pickles and jellytots
And they loved her in turn with full little hearts
Much more than red carts and little jam tarts.

Then one night, all snuggled ‘n' buggled ‘n' ruggled
Up into the sky floated Lucy Twoo's bubble
The strangest of feelings, I'm sure you'll agree
But one that filled her with heavenly glee.

Not scared or frightened to be twizzled and siphoned,
‘Up, up and away, ' she shouted quite enlivened.
All was quiet and nothing was changed
But there she sat soaring upwards un-reined.

She came to rest in a huge woolly cloud
Where Twoos she had lost in her life had a crowd,
All those she remembered she missed having seen
Even at the age of one hundred and threen.

Now little did you know, so for just you and me -
Woolly clouds are just the places to be
And surrounded by stars and floating free
Lucy Twoo smiled down at her sleeping family.

Next morning up woke the Drips and Drops
And they searched for their Lucy with her pickles and ‘tots
But they knew soon enough that she'd floated away
And a great deal of sadness took hold that day.

Though the story, I fear, is almost at an end
There are lessons to learn of Lucy's ascend
There are thoughts to be thunk and comfort to be had
That'll carry you through each day that is bad.

So listen though you are sad and your crying gets loud,
A whisper will come from a huge woolly cloud
And you'll see, if you look up, the crowd you once knew
With their smiles still wide and still loving you.