The Wombat Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

Apparently the wombat sucks its thumb
Away from home and missing mum -
Very sensitive and shy it seems
It’s prone to nerves and scary dreams.

Hairy bottom, hairy nose
And none too clean between the toes –
With hygiene less than ones desiring
It’s not surprising it’s retiring.

Left without shampoo or soap
The lovelorn then run out of rope -
Lacking cuddles, grope or hope
They stay at home and simply mope.

And when they seek a pal or mate
They’re oft too meek to score a date -
Eschewing roots and fruits the while
Neither philogynous nor androphile.

The numbers in the Warrumbungles
Face brooder's droop and lack of bundles -
And things are hardly fine and dandy
In Warnambool and Dirranbandi.

Across in Broken Hill just broken hearts
As dating agents wait for starts -
And bunga bunga’s out in Cunnamulla
Wagga Wagga, Toowoomba, Bulla Bulla...

With baby wombats rare in Hay
The gastronomes just stay away -
In Gundaroo there are so few
They’re using mutton now for stew.

But veterinarians are planning scripts to suit
With Viagra applied to stump and root -
Plus anxiety suppressing medication
And an online social network application.