All 'roos in the meadow would leap over stones,
But poor little Jumper just flopped with some groans.
One day a turtle, named Tilda, passed by—
“You’ll bounce when it’s time! Don't you quit, just try.”

He’d lace up his shoes with a mighty big frown,
While Tilda said, “Breathe—don’t let your heart down.”
But Jumper just huffed, “I’m no good at this game!”
And hung his head low, overcome with his shame.

That night as he stared at the moon shining bright,
He dreamed he could fly in the glow of its light.
He soared through the clouds with one powerful spring,
And woke up with hope tucked under his wing.

Next morning he tried, but he slipped in the muck—
And landed face-first with a loud squishy THUCK!
“Oh mud!” he complained. “You’ve ruined my pride.”
But Tilda just chuckled and cleaned off his side.

He sighed, “I remember last spring when I tripped…
I gave up for weeks 'cause my ears were all dipped.”
“But you came back,” said Tilda. “And that’s the real trick—
Bounce isn't about how you start, but how quick.”

Just then from the grass came a squeak and a shout,
“Jumper, come play! Let’s all bounce about!”
He stared at the cliff where the wildflowers grew—
And took one big breath… “I’ll TRY. Let’s see through!”

He bent at the knees and he gave a loud squeal…
He wiggled, he jiggled, then sprang with some zeal!
He bounced just a bit—but he did leave the ground!
Tilda clapped twice with a shell-thumping sound.

Now Jumper still trips, and he sometimes still slides,
But he bounces each time, with joy in his strides.
“Learning,” said Tilda, “is slow, just like me—
But every hop counts, even two, even three.”