On the Twelfth Day of Christmas,

A Small Girl spoke to a Stable Genius.

You’re afraid, she said, interrupting his trumpet.

I fear nothing, he grunted. I am a God among men.

She saw how he trembled, heard how he slurred.

You should sleep, Mister Elephant.

And the Stable Genius blinked.

I can’t stop, now.

The men will cut off my tail.

They will harvest my tusks.

The Small Girl reached out, holding a feather.

It’s all they know.

You taught them well.

The Stable Genius shook himself about

Flapped his ears

grasped the feather with his trunk.

Do you think I can fly?

She whisper-sang something about

Pink Elephants On Parade, and said

Just rest.