The Elephant

by Herbert Asquith circa 1920

Here comes the elephant
Swaying along
With his cargo of children
All singing a song:
To the tinkle of laughter
He goes on his way
And his cargo of children
Have crowned him with May.

His legs are in leather
And padded his toes:
He can root up an oak
With a whisk of his nose.

With a wave of his trunk
And a turn of his chin
He can pull down a house,
Or pick up a pin.

Beneath his grey forehead
A little eye peers:
Of what is he thinking
Between those wide ears?
What does he feel?
If he wished to tease,
He could twirl his keeper
Over the trees:

If he were not kind,
He could play cup and ball
With Robert and Helen
And Uncle Paul:

But that grey forehead,
Those crinkled ears
Have learned to be kind
In a hundred years: