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Belle was a zebra, not the typical type,
For she was spotted, she hadn’t a stripe.
Hair spiky, tail curly, her hooves pink as well,
In all of the jungle, there were none quite like Belle.
 

A curse, some might say, but she didn’t think so,
She didn’t care, she went on with the flow.
While others would bully, spread rumors, and tease,
Belle would just gallop and canter with ease.
 

Elephants, monkeys, parrots, and bats,
Hyenas and Hippos and all the big cats,
Would say Belle was strange, peculiar, and silly,
But Belle didn’t care, she went on willy-nilly.
 

She trekked through the jungle; on journeys or missions,
In search of adventures, she had great ambitions.
She’d see everything and she’d go everywhere,
With spots on her back and a spike in her hair.
 

But others would try hard to get in her way,
“You spot head!  You dot head!  You knot head!“ They’d say.
“You’re clueless and screw-less!  Adventures are fruitless!”
“Why bother?  Why try?  You’re clumsy and useless!”
 

This made Belle upset, though she didn’t quite show it,
By the look on her face, I don’t think that you’d know it.
But deep down inside, where it’s hardest to see,
Her sadness was growing like leaves on a tree.
 

In a jungle of creatures, some big and some small,
Only Belle was made fun of.  The rest… not at all.
They’d whisper and gossip and tell mostly lies,
About how Belle would smell and be covered in flies.

Or “Belle picked her nose, yes, I saw it, it’s true!”
Or “Belle yelled a very bad thing about you!”
Or “Belle loves Gazelle, she kissed him, I heard,”
These lies and deceits were wrong and absurd!
 

For Belle didn’t smell, say bad things or yell,
And she knew for a fact she did not kiss gazelle.
This made her upset, and inside her, she cried,
But still wasn’t showing it on the outside.
 

She just kept on going, so merry and free,
And soon all the animals started to see.
They’d ask, “Why’s she so happy?  Why doesn’t she cry?
“We’ve not even seen a tear form in her eye.”

“She should be upset, she should but she’s not,”
“We’ve bullied and teased and spread rumors a lot.”
“But still, she’s un-phased; it’s not bothering her,”
“Perhaps she is more than black spots on white fur.”

“Perhaps, yes, just maybe, she isn’t so weird,”
“And not quite as crazy as she has appeared.”
“Maybe it’s cool to be spotted and strange,”
“Maybe the way that we treat her should change.”
 

“I think that you’re right,” one said to another,
“I also agree,” said a lioness mother.
“We’re not all the same; we’re all one of a kind,
“In even a twin, there’s a difference you’ll find.”
 

The lion spoke up, he was king of them all,
In charge of the jungle, the tall and the small.
“I think we should stop all this bullying now,”
“All this teasing and rumors, I’ll no longer allow!”
 

“But I disagree,” said the tiniest thing,
A gerbil the size of the paw of the king.
“I think one more rumor is needed, you see,”          
“A nice kind of rumor; one started by me!”
 

“Belle is so wonderful, loving, and sweet,”
“Her spots are amazing and groovy and neat.”
“I love how she gallops; no worries or care,”
“I especially love that spike in her hair.”

​

The rest of the jungle then passed it along,
With whispering gossip, it wouldn’t take long.
Within a few minutes it reached spotted ears,
And that’s when it happened, those deep withheld tears,
They fell as though they had been held in for years.

But not tears of sadness, not tears of despair,
Not tears from a fear or a worry or care,
These tears, they were happy, they came with a grin,
For now, spotted Belle… had somehow  fit in.

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