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Whitney the Opossum (and her joeys)

Sewn by hand from a pair of old socks


Here is a special poem:

Opossum! my Possum! you’ve followed your keen nose,
You’ve pilfered every berry bush, turned over ev’ry stone.
You smell food, you conclude, buried in that trash bin,
While you scale the fence up high, on your back your kin;
    But Opossum! Possum! Possum!
        O the trash bin having man,
            Swats and shoos at the wretched Possum,
                Fallen playing dead.