Cadwallader, the Can'tapillar

This is a tale from the garden green
about some little critters
See if you know
How it will go
and do not get the jitters!

"Cadwallader, Cadwallader
come out and eat with me.
It's almost lunch,
we have a bunch of goodies,
come and see!"

"I can't," replied Cadwallader
to his old friend Crickety Crick.
"I ate all day,
forgot to play
and now my tummy's sick."

"Cadwallader, Cadwallader,
climb out upon this leaf.
It's green and chewy
ooey, gooey
turns pain into relief."

"I can't." Replied Cadwallader
shaking in his shoes.
"You're up too high!
I cannot fly!
I'll fall and get a bruise."

"Cadwallader, Cadwallader
inchout on this short shoot.
Take a bite
with all your might!
Come over here. Now scoot!"

"I can't." Whined old Cadwallader,
frowning up his brow.
"I am to fat
to do all that.
I am too tired now."

"Cadwallader, Cadwallader
march up here on this flower.
The sweetest juice,
you silly goose,
will give you super power."

"I can't." Howled old Cadwallader,
making such a noise.
"It's way to hard
to lift my lard.
Just give it to the boys."

"Cadwallader, Cadwallader
the air is growing cold.
Curl up in a ball,
it must be fall.
The winter will unfold."

"I can't!" moaned plump Cadwallader,
chewing on his lips.
"I feel a need
to hide indeed
and cover up my hips."

The wind, it blew. The cold, it came
and all his friends were gone.
So Cadwallader the Can'tapillar put his new coat on.

Wiggle, wriggle, squiggle UP
and inside-out he moved.
Cadwallader, the can'tapillar
had something to prove.

Tick-tock around the clock
the hands of time did spin.
Cadwallader, the can'tapillar
felt a change within.

The sun grew warm,
the days grew long
and something had to give.
All his friends soon gathered 'round
to see if Cadwallader lived.

"Cadwallader, Cadwallader!"
They all began to shout.
"Where have you gone?
It's been so long.
Wake up and come on out!"

"I can't," whispered Cadwallader.
"My skin is on too tight.
Yet I will try
I don't know why
I feel the need for flight."

"Cadwallader, Cadwallader
You funny fat old worm.
You're made of hips
and legs and lips
No wings have you yet earned."

Crack and crack and crickle and rip
and out into the sun.
He rested there
and dried his hair
which had come all undone.

"Cadwallader, Cadwallader!
Is that you way up there?
It can't be you!
What did you do?
There's wings instead of hair!"

"I can't," cried new Cadwallader
"have wings all flittery and bright!
But what is this?
I have a wish
for free and fancy flight!"


...to be continued