The jungle is dark

And buries its own wonders,

So this story may be a lark

Or a tale of blunders.

There once was a baby gorilla

Who spoke what was on his mind;

He lived in a treetop villa

Eternally unconfined.

The baby gorilla spoke of things

Of which it had no reference.

It chattered of marbles and of kings,

With no varying amount of deference.

He gleefully laughed

At the predators’ ilk;

At their deadly craft,

And muscles bound in silk.

But the dusky leopard took exception,

Though never did she speak.

She would correct the gorilla’s misconception,

And show him a predator’s peak.

The gorilla fled

But the leopard taught

That soon he would be dead

For he was already caught.

He took a slash to the chest

Then laid limp upon the floor;

The leopard grinned at the little pest,

And the baby gorilla spoke no more.