Baby Possum
By Elysia roselle W
In her pouch
It feels soft and warm and cosy.
She likes to sleep and play,
Sometimes not moving,
Sometimes giggling.
Sometimes she rubs her Mummy’s tummy
And she feels safe.
High up in a tree,
Where pink blossoms grow,
The branch tips touch the clouds
And she dreams of swooping,
Baby birds above her in the sky.