When Rosie got a bit older she became a Big Strong Young Tiger. She often went out for long walks in the forest with her little sister Sophie. Sometimes they would go out walking at night: even though it could get very dark in the Forest, the fireflies would Burn Brightly lighting their way.
One evening, when Rose and Sophie were out walking, they came across a man with a big black bushy beard sitting under a tree. He was chewing on his pencil and looking despondently at a large notebook he was holding.
“Hello, I’m Rosie,” said Rosie.
“And I’m Sophie,” said Sophie.
“Oh, hello,” said the man, looking up, “my name’s Bill.”
“What are you doing?” asked Sophie curiously, coming a little closer.
“I’m trying to write a poem,” he said. “I’ve got a great beginning, but now I’m stuck.”
“Well what have you got so far?” asked Rosie.
The man cleared his throat, and read.
“Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,”
he said grandly.
Rosie and Sophie waited expectantly. “Is that it?” asked Sophie after a while.
“Er, yes,” said the man, looking a little embarrassed.
Rosie padded around slowly to look over the man's shoulder at his notebook. "I don't think that that's how you spell 'Tiger'," she said.
“I can’t think of anything to rhyme with ‘burning bright’,” said the man.
“Well...,” said Rosie looking around thoughtfully, “we’re in a Forest.”
“And it’s Night time,” added Sophie.
“Forest … night... That’s it!”, cried the man, and started writing in his notebook furiously. After about ten minutes he stopped. “It’s done,” he said. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes, please,” said Rose and Sophie together. They sat down side-by-side to listen. The man stood up, cleared his throat again, and started to read.
After a few minutes he stopped reading. “That’s it,” he said, looking up. “What did you think?”
“Well, it’s a bit rude to tigers,” said Rosie.
“I don’t like the bit about Stars and Spears,” said Sophie. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Humph,” said the man crossly. “What would Tigers know about poetry anyway?”
So Rose and Sophie ate him.
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