A tale of a knit octopus.
|A little octopus named Knit
lives in the sea of quilt and spread;
he wears no algae on his pate
but wears a cap of wool instead.
All through the night he swims in shag
as moonlight sometimes beams on high;
but in the morn when beds are made
he’s perched on pillows high and dry.
Knit has a small-screen TV set
that sits upon his shelf of stuff;
although he’ll sometimes watch, The View,
he’s partial to, Eight is Enough.
(Knit raises himself up with ease,
bouncing bubbly on the table;
he is a gymnast octopus--
with eight arms, he’s more than able.)
One day he heard the strangest sound
that scared him from beyond the door;
so he scurried beneath the quilt
as that strange sound became a roar.
Then as the roar continued on
he took a peek, his wool now white;
that was the day he learned about
an upright vacuum clean on site.
Still, Little Knit can be an imp--
digital clocks just give him glee;
he’ll drop an arm across the face
to change the eight into a three.