This is a reprint from a few years back. I remember when I read it to my Cozy Critters and they were wondering what sort of animal would begin with the letter Y.
Canebreak ABC’s
Red ants, black ants marching all together, through a canebreak by the river in the lovely summer weather.
Many-colored butterflies drift or dream or flit among tall stalks for the very fun of it.
A caterpillar wriggles and a cricket creaks a song, surrounded by the river cane, thick and green and long.
Dragonflies a-dazzle with sunshine on their wings, dart and hover, dip and dance, with joy that summer brings.
Two eggs lie hidden in a nest, snug upon the ground; someone placed them secretly where they won’t be found.
A sharp and pointed foxy nose pokes into the cane, but finds it far too crowded, with no trail or path or lane.
Geese come winging over in a tired and thirsty V; the river by the canebreak will suit them perfectly.
Honeybees are buzzing in a honeysuckle vine; the sweetly-flavored blossoms are a lovely place to dine.
Ivy creeps among the stalks, a refuge thick and green, for many tiny insect folk, shy of being seen.
Jarfly’s voice crescendos into a grating song; a gritty, gravelly non-stop call, he sings it loud and long.
Katydid clings to a leaf, green and still and quiet; she doesn’t want to be a meal in someone’s buggy diet.
Lightning bugs come out to dance throughout the velvet night; their tiny lanterns prick the cane and turn the darkness bright.
Mosquitoes zinging, singing, stinging, an aggravating swarm; they like the southern canebreak which is thick and damp and warm.
A feathered head peeps from a nest, hung snugly on a cane; this baby bird is safe and dry from summer’s wind and rain.
Owl flies softly through the night with moonlight on his wings; he’s searching for fat, furry mice or other tasty things.
‘Possum’s nose and toes are pink, her tail is pinkish too; she wakes at night to look for food, as all nocturnals do.
“Bob White, Bob White,” quail whistles; she’s found a place to hide, and build her nest among the cane, with babies snug inside.
At night, raccoon pads through the cane; she’s on her way to fish. Some crawdeads or some mussels will make a tasty dish.
Squirrel doesn’t linger; she dashes toward some trees where she can hide her acorns, chatter, scold, and tease.
Turtle prefers plodding; he’d never run or scurry. Wouldn’t it be funny to see turtle in a hurry?
Underneath the river cane, smallish creatures dwell; bugs and beetles, worms and snails; it suits them very well.
A vulture rides the breezes to see what he can find; he likes to eat the smelly stuffy that others leave behind.
Whippoorwill, with piercing voice, calls through the southern night; darkness doesn’t bother him; he has amazing sight.
The cane is X-tra special for many, large and small; creeping, crawling, scampering, it is a home for all.
a Yukie just might live there but, being very shy, he’d disappear somewhat like fog if you but blinked your eye.
The thicket has a zillion plants whose roots and spores and seeds all have a place in nature’s plan as herbs or moss or weeds.
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