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