The Little Dinosaur

[Stephen Whiteside]

The Little Dinosaur

© Stephen Whiteside 12.05.2012

There once was a dinosaur ever so small.
You scarcely could see him, could see him, at all;
As small as an ant or a mozzie or fly;
A fragment of grit you might get in your eye;
As small as a germ you might grow in a vat
In a lab. No, I guess not as little as that.
But, still, he was tiny, which surely is strange,
For dinosaurs mighty were well known to range
Through valley and mountain, through marshland and plain.
(Their likes, though, we will not see ever again.)
But this was one small. Such a titch, he was tiny.
His teeth, still, were sharp, and his back, still, was spiny.
His claws were like razors, his tail was strong,
And he whistled a tune as he padded along.
He whistled a tune, for his spirits were high,
And his head, to himself, felt up high in the sky,
And so it was, too, for the sky, it is vast,
And even those big dinosaurs of the past
With long necks and big heads would scarcely appear
Compared to the height of the Earth’s atmosphere.
He whistled a melody, whistled a song,
As his bowled on his small legs, but sturdy, along.
Stones that would just look like gravel to us
Were boulders to him, but they caused him no fuss.
Up, down, and up, and around and around,
He travelled with ease on the uneven ground,
A dinosaur small, but still well in the black,
With the sun on his face, and the wind at his back,
And he whistled some jazz, and he whistled the blues,
Concerned himself not with political news,
And he whistled some gospel, whistled some pop
(Though he drew a clear line at that dreadful hip hop).
He whistled some folk – it was English, I fear,
Where hero meets hero with dagger and spear.
He whistled some rock and he whistled some soul.
Distracted, he nearly fell down a big hole.
‘Twas an old shaft for mining, abandoned long hence,
And he chided himself for not showing more sense,
But chided but mildly, then chose to immerse
His heart and his soul in some Aussie bush verse.
The sun was now setting. He built a wee fire,
And as he threw sticks on, the flames leapt up higher.
He pulled out his billy, he threw in some tea
And some water, then sat back quite contentedly.
The stars all came out, and it grew bitter cold,
And he sang a sea shanty of sailors of old,
And he snuggled up close to the coals glowing red;
They served as warm blanket, the earth as a bed,
And his dreams, they were sweet, as he slumbered that night,
A creature so small, he was scarce within sight,
And the flames flickered deep in the night.

[Irene]

Wonderful Stephen - very much enjoyed it!!

Catchya
IRene

[Stephen Whiteside]

Thanks, Irene.

[Dennis N O'Brien]

Good one Stephen - I notice he's an Aussie bush dinosaur.

[Neville Briggs]

I like that Stephen, there are some ingenious little echoing flourishes which add to the poetic "tune" I think very well. The content is probably more appealing to youngsters, is that one for your school publication?

[Stephen Whiteside]

Thanks Dennis, Neville. Yes, I guess so, Neville.

[Terry]

Hi Stephen,
you're certainly the master of children's poetry,
and a pretty dab hand at the rest of it as well.

Cheers Terry

[Stephen Whiteside]

Thanks, Terry. Much appreciated. You're not so bad yourself!