There once was a brave little Mootix,
Whose legs were no longer than toothpicks.
He leapt on a Poppit
But just couldn't stop it
And was thrown all the way to the tropics.

To Mystery Island he flew,
On the beach was where he came to.
His parachute broken,
The Mootix, soft-spoken,
Whispered, “Oh no, now what do I do?”

A Pirate Poppit was out for a stroll,
And the Mootix, with no self-control,
Jumped up on his back,
The Poppit yelled “Attack!”
And tossed him from the sandy atoll.

Now the Mootix, again airborne,
Was afraid— the chute was all torn!
He cried out, “How tragic!”
And then, just like magic,
He launched into space, not forewarned.

The Mootix twirled like a baton,
With no Petpet to fall down upon.
But between his rotations
He spied a Space Station
And towards it he spun on and on.

He landed on cold Kreludor
Face down on the galactic floor.
His mind was quite busy
But he was still dizzy
And he laid there for a minute more.

A young Robot Poppit ahead
Saw the poor little Mootix half dead.
The Poppit heard strange sounds—
The Mootix was mid-pounce!
He said, “Stop it, you have been misled!”

The Mootix just sat there until
The Poppit asked him, “If you will,
Tell me how it occurs
That Poppits have no fur
And yet you would jump on me still!”

“I have read in many a book,”
Continued the Poppit, not shook,
“That you small, silly Mootix
Know only a few tricks
And tend to leap before you look.”

The Mootix knew he was correct.
He said, “You know, in full retrospect,
The warm, fuzzy texture
Of a pet’s architecture
Should be the first thing I inspect.”

The Mootix, with his errors known,
Asked the Poppit, “How do I get home?
My parachute ripped
When I went on that trip
And I cannot get back on my own.”

The Poppit, a great innovator,
Said, “Wait!” And a few moments later,
He returned with a chute,
A perfect substitute,
Made from bits and parts of a crater.

The Mootix, now flying and floaty,
As he drifted to Neopia slowly,
Yelled out, “Thank you, friend!
From now on I’ll descend
Onto the back of a Kadoatie!”