A limerick dialogue between a thick-coated textile and a bare-tailed nudist
An astonished coon asked of a possum,
“Why on earth don’t you cover your bottom?
When you traipse round the wood,
you don’t dress as you should.
Keep yourself covered up like you oughta!”
So the possum replied to the coon,
“Would you cover the sun and the moon?
With your rings and your mask,
I sincerely must ask,
just what is it you’re hiding? From whom?”
But the coon scratched his head. “Where’s your shame?
Naked, skyclad, bare – by any name,
you’re undressed and exposed
from your tail to your nose,
rain or shine, noon or night, all the same.”
“Friend raccoon, you are clearly obsessed
with who’s dressed and who’s not, and what’s best.
Naked’s easy to scorn,
when to mask is the norm,
and when, even to swim, one must dress.”
But the coon volleyed back to the other,
“Tell me, how can you be a good mother?
You’ve a pouch round your middle,
but no straps o’er your nipples,
and your kits run nude, sister with brother.”
So the possum said, “Friend, for your health,
you should learn to accept your whole self.
And for that, your bare skin-
in sun, mud, pond, or wind-
is the best way to wisdom and wealth.”
Raccoon sighed. “Possum, this I admit:
that my clothes sometimes don’t seem to fit.
And if I’ve removed them
when I bathe in the glen,
then the sun dries me lickety-split.”
Possum said, with a wink and a smile,
“Don’t you see? This you’ve known all the while:
wet or dry, large or small,
there’s one size that fits all.