Hector's Talent

Scotland’s summer is kind and full of wonder

And despite the heavy rain, there is no scarry thunder.

Everyone is full of joy, carrying love as a national mark,

And at the country’s heart is one particular Glasgow park.

Thus, our story now is born,

Carried within a lullaby, with all that is gentle and warm…

One sunny Monday morning, when June was at her best,

Hector, the baby squirrel in Kelvingrove, departed from his nest.

For autumn dinners and a bath,

In search of walnuts and of dew,

As loyal friends they came about his path,

So that his mum could make a delicious stew.

While Hector put among the shelves

The brown and warm provisions,

Into his mind appeared sad visions

That he possesed no unique gift

At the sight of which the world turned to a swift.

He then decided not to cry

But with all his dreaming simply try

To find the talent which would make

All good become the great and all the grass a chocolate cake.

Since Hector was impatient as though he had no time,

Tuesday morning came, as bitter as a lime.

Hector thought he should find his dream

And thinking he might be a baker, began to work on the cream.

But things turned out a big surprise

And Hector saw before his eyes

Instead of sponge, a lonely crepe

Instead of custard, purple mustard.

Wednesday morning came quite fast,

With warm palettes and a canvas.

Hector knew he must suceed

As a French painter indeed.

He drew circles, coloured squares

To create some Cubist pears.

But instead there was no fruit,

So Hector looked to new pursuit.

To science he would now return

To make new spices that won’t burn,

But after mixing Salt and Clorium

Baby squirrel was again sad,

There was no invention to be had!

Thursday left, Friday arrived

Still no talent had survived.

Then, Hector thought of carols and snow

And tried becoming an ice – skater pro.

Sadly though, he could not jump

And turned the rink to a frosty lump.

Then trying to use a bit more space

Hector lost all flow and grace.

Saturday night was time for jamming

With piano and a harmonica surrounding

And being now friends with a duck called Tazz

Our squirrel discovered the magic of jazz.

Hector’s ear lacked blues or rock n roll

Since by playing the harph he was at another pole

So he decided to go home and sleep

But he couldn’t, and all he did was wheep.

Sunday morning was a gloomy day

And on his mother Hector lay.

‘Why is my path always the wrong one?’ he cried

‘All I wanted to do was make the world surprised!’

‘You haven’t looked in the right way,’ his mum began

‘Your gift was there since through the forest you ran,

And you couldn’t see it because it was a part of you

Always making you happy, always making dreams come true.’

‘How wise you are !’ Hector replied

And never again would he sadly hide.

He knew now his gentle path was decorated with walnuts so that everyone and everywhere

The tress, the flowers and the leaves would always feel the touch of warm, fresh air!

From now on, they would be cheerful, grateful and excited

And happy Hector felt he made not just himself, but all the world more than delighted!