When the moon moves to sit in the dark,
We run to the jungle, howling in play,
With a watchful eye, our Moon Auntie waits
Rocking gently along with the tide.
Feral as cats, clambering high over knotted trees,
Slithering carelessly through waxy leaves.
We are not allowed far past the edge of the world
So we make dens in the crevices and swings on the vines.
When the stars have cut through the night film of black
We make our way back to the camp when called
Crashing through now with swords made of wood,
Little bare feet wettened with cool dusk-dew.
Our game is paused till the morning rampage,
Howls become mews as we lay down to sleep -
And the hum of the animals sings through the night
And the Tigers are waiting, just out of sight.
Poeyum 