Polly Possum got a new purse. It was the first she ever had. She takes it with her where ever she goes, even though, she dosen’t know, what to put inside it.
She holds it high for all to see but every day she holds it a little bit lower, because it seems to be a little heavier than it was the day before, and if her eyes do not deceive her, a little bigger too.
Until today, as she was setting off, she found she could no longer lift it.
“Well this will never do.” She thought, then thought how she might fix it. Perhaps perhaps, if she looked inside, maybe she could see a solution.
As she pulled the purse open, she began a counting.
“One, two, three, four, five, and six, no seven, oh eight.”
“Eight shinny pink noses”
“Eight terrific pink tails”
“Eight sets of innocent eyes, blinking back a me.”
It took her breath away, and before she could draw it back, all eight had climbed on out, and clamored up, to her head for hugs and kisses.
Polly Possum still has that purse, and now she knows, what needs to go inside it. Rattles and snacks and something soft, to wipe the tears and noses, of eight perfect, precious, joyful joeys.