Nataliya Bogoluibova - Funny Rhymes

An elephant woke at the break of the day,

And declared with a trumpet, "I need a new way!

Something fun to explore, to lift up my mood,

I want to be a ballerina!" she exclaimed, feeling good.

"Dancing on toes, oh it sounds so dear,

With pirouettes and pliés, I’ll twirl without fear!"

But the animals chuckled, their giggles did flow,

"An elephant dancing? Oh, where could that go?"

She purchased a tutu, all pink and so bright,

But the others just chuckled, "She'll never get it right!"

With each clumsy step, they could hardly refrain,

Yet she waltzed through the laughter and danced in the rain.

With each stomping step, the ground gave a thrum,

The other animals gathered, enchanted and numb,

They clapped their own paws and hooves in delight,

As she danced under shadows that softened the light.

"Too clumsy," they whispered, "It's just not her chance,"

Yet she danced through the doubts with a bold, lively prance.

Her trunk held high and her spirit so free,

She shattered the notions of what could not be.

At first, she was wobbly, tripping here, tripping there,

But with every performance, she lightened the air.

She lost a few pounds, she danced with such grace,

Her moves so enchanting, they brightened the space.

The music began, and the lights softly glowed,

With delicate grace, her confidence flowed.

She glided like whispers, like shadows on air,

With poise and with elegance, a beauty so rare.

The audience gasped as they witnessed her art,

An elephant shining, a beat of the heart.

No longer a creature of size and of might,

But a dancer, a dreamer, igniting the night.

In a nook of a house, a mouse had a dream,

To be a grand beauty, or so it would seem.

She longed for the glamour, the sparkle, the grace,

But all she possessed was a simple gray face.

With a sigh and a wish, she looked in the glass,

"I long for a makeover, oh how time will pass!

A touch of the brush, some sparkle and sheen,

To feel like the princess I know I could be seen."

To the beauty salons, she scampered each night,

Spent her last penny on blush that was bright.

With each coat of lipstick and shimmer of gold,

She grew weary and tired, her spirit grew cold.

The mouse dreamed of ribbons and colors so grand,

Of soft silken curtains and a soft, gentle hand.

Yet deep in her heart, she learned as she sighed,

True beauty's a glow that starts from inside.

Exhausted and angry, she looked in the glass,

The beauty she chased was a fleeting farce.

Then one day she pondered, her heart felt the tug,

That true beauty’s found in a warm little hug.

For beauty is simple, it’s not just skin deep,

It’s the joy that you share and the love that you keep.

So if you feel lesser, just look for the light,

And let your true self shine, making everything right!

The crocodile cried, "What a beautiful day!

I'll wear something new and show off my way!

With a twirl and a grin, he dressed in his best,

In bright, flashy colors, he felt quite blessed.

He had heaps of clothes, all stylish and grand,

From polka dots, stripes, to a chic bow tie band.

He strutted through waters, beneath the warm sun,

Thinking, "Today’s fashion is so much fun!"

A hundred cool shirts hung in neat little rows,

From sparkly sequins to classic clean clothes.

He’d try on each jacket, he’d twist and he’d twirl,

In vibrant bright colors, he’d flash like a pearl.

But as the sun rose and the day lingered near,

Our modern croc struggled, filled with fashion fear.

“Should I wear the blue one, or maybe the green?

What if today calls for a chic lavender sheen?”

“Do I go for the stripes, or a classic plain black?

Perhaps I’ll try florals, but oh, what a knack!

There’s corduroy, denim, and even some suede,

I wish I could ask, but my friends are delayed.”

The morning sun climbed, and he tapped on the floor,

As he shuffled through patterns, his heart started to soar.

“Today feels quite cheery, or maybe a twist,

With so many options, how could I resist?”

He contemplated textures, the fabric’s soft flow,

A tailored sharp blazer, or a relaxed, cool glow?

With a sigh and a shuffle, the clock ticked away,

His fashion parade turning into dismay.

Hours would pass as he’d mix and he’d match,

Drowning in choices, a fashionable catch.

His friends waited outside, “Come join us, don’t wait!”

But stylish croc pondered, “Which look is just great?”

In jackets with patterns, in boots made of leather,

He weighed all his options in glamorous tether.

Yet there he remained in his swampy domain,

A croc lost in fashion, what a stylish pain!

“But wait!” he exclaimed, as ideas took flight,

“I’ll mix and I’ll match, make a dazzling sight!

A splash of this color, a pop of that hue,

With style in my heart, I’ll create something new!”

With each perfect outfit, he felt oh-so-fine,

A dapper young croc in a world of design.

He waved to the creatures, both feathered and furry,

As they admired his style without any hurry.

“Oh, look at me now!” he exclaimed with delight,

In a snazzy new jacket, shining so bright.

The jungle echoed back with cheers and some praise,

For the crocodile’s charm lit up all their days.

In the middle of nowhere, in the swamp so drear,

Mushroom Weasel grumbled, her nose full of sneer.

“Mushroom jam’s gross; I can’t take it anymore,

I’d rather have oysters, oh, give me galore!

I dream of the coast, where the baguettes are crisp,

Where the flavors dance lightly, with each tasty lisp.

There’s a cunning mink snug in a warm French abode,

Living life like a dream, down a fancy old road.

For years she had comfort, her troubles were few,

In a cage so spacious, with a splendid view.

Mushroom Weasel sighed with an envious glance,

Imagining feasts, and a life full of chance.

“Oh, baguettes for breakfast, with truffles on plate,

And for lunch, fine frog legs— wouldn’t that be great?

But alas! That old woman, her heart turned to ice,

Had given the pet to her niece for a terrible price.

This child had no mercy; she’d put on a show,

Pretending the mink was a collar, oh no!

Each evening they’d wander, through the city of light,

While the mink nibbled canapés, what a glorious sight!

With a coat on the chair, she'd sneak bites in delight,

Dancing through Paris, a true culinary flight.

So here I remain in this murky old swamp,

While the mink dines on goodness, my stomach just grumps.

Yet off to the city, the mink would parade,

In cafes so charming, she deftly displayed.

With a coat on a chair, she’d steal from the plates,

Canapés with cheese, oh, such tantalizing fates!

Mushroom Weasel pondered, in a swampy retreat,