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CHAPTER 1
In the crisp brisk air of springtime, In a forest far away, Lay a newborn moose named Morty Under rain-filled clouds of gray.
While his mother gently cleaned him, Licking curly, thick wet hair, First an ear twitched, then an eye blinked, And though tired, Morty stirred.
On his tiny legs he wobbled As he took his first new steps. While his mother sniffed and smelled him, Near her side was safely kept.
When he tried to walk, he stumbled, But he picked himself back up. Then he walked and soon was running- Next, he tried so hard to jump.
And he did-he jumped quite quickly; Squirrels and rabbits ran away. Morty thought that this was some new Fun-filled game that he could play.
But then Morty saw them gather- Little creatures looking on, Blankly staring on in wonder, Unsure what they'd come upon.
Though he never ever hurt them, Still, from him they backed away. Morty looked and gazed in question, As this happened every day.
Morty learned to run so quickly Happily running to and fro. He could run in highland mountains; He could run in valleys low.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Morty"
by .
Copyright © 2017 K.C. Rasmussen.
Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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