The monkey stole the ocelot’s horn,
and sold it in the souk.
The ocelot felt the loss a lot,
— he didn’t know where to look!
‘Without my horn, I’m quite forlorn’,
bemoaned the tuneless one.
‘I can’t pipe a tune to the harvest moon,
or tootle to the sun’.
‘Some low-life thief has caused this grief’,
said another, more civil simian.
‘I’ll restore the loss, and carry his cross.
— I’ll be the good civilian.’
So he went to the souk and took a look
at their stock of musical goodies.
He came away with pipes to play
and a pair of hurdy-gurdies.
‘Such kindness we don’t come across a lot.’
said the dreadfully rhyming ocelot.
‘Thanks a million, kind-hearted simian,
— I just hope it didn’t cost a lot.’
‘Pshaw!’ and ‘Fie!’ was the monkey’s reply:
‘It warms my heart to restore the art
to such a musical ocelot.
Don’t think of the cost, or the horn you lost.
— Now I must get back to Camelot.’