When I was three
Perhaps just two
My father took me
To London Zoo.
At a tall fence near
The entrance gate
We paused to wait
Behind a short queue
Of seven or eight.
Look up said Dad.
I did and appears
A quite curious sight:
Two pointed ears
An inquisitive head
With jaws askew
Not wearing a hat
Many feet in the air
And my dad said
Who chews like that?
The head looked down
As I looked up.
And seemed to say
Superiorly:
When you’re grown up
You’ll still not be
As big as me.
You’ll grow tall and yet
I see into places
You’ll never get.
Dad spoke often
With a laugh
Of my face when I saw
My first giraffe.
Footnote
When you grow tall
Inclined to quarrel
Recall this story
And its moral
Do not covet
Boot or shoe
That will prove
Too big for you
Your own perhaps
You think too small
Not good enough
For you at all
But what you learnt
When you were small
Do not forget
When you grow tall.
©Terry Hodgson2020
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