The Tigger

The Tigger 
By Phil Cain
Tigger Tigger feeling light
Forever bouncing to great height
What immortal hand or eye
Would thwart thy primal bid to fly.

What great lows and highs
Has put such shine in thy eyes?
Since the starting pistol fired
Neither have thee paused nor tired. 

What great seamstress applied her art
To the pounding of thy heart
And when this organ began to thump
What made thee get right up and jump?

What creator sowed thy mane?
And did she also crochet thy brain
What the needle what the hooks
Fixed thy wild-eyed looks.

When the almighty created bears
And tended to their wonky ears
Did she smile her work to see?
Did she who made Eeyore make thee?

Tigger Tigger feeling light
Forever bouncing to great height
What immortal hand or eye
Would thwart thy primal bid to fly. ■

The Tyger
By William Blake
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 
In the forests of the night; 
What immortal hand or eye, 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears 
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? ■