Elephant Years
That’s not my elephant, Miss Ella,
I said when she was two.
Mine has panache, wears couture, eats ganache;
That one is missing a shoe.
That's not my elephant, Miss Ella,
I said when she was three.
Mine eats spaghetti, macaroni, vermicelli;
That one just eats PB*.
That's not my elephant, Miss Ella,
I said when she was five.
Mine jumps around, climbs up trees, won't come down;
That one is barely alive.
That’s not my elephant, Miss Ella,
I said when she was ten.
Mine wears his hat, and his gloves, fancy that;
That one has lost his again.
That’s not my elephant, Miss Ella,
I said when she was sixteen.
Mine does his math, goes on dates, takes a bath;
That one can be kind of mean.
That’s not my elephant, Miss Ella,
I said when she turned twenty-three.
Mine knows the bill of rights, when to give, when to fight;
That one will never be free.
That’s not my elephant, Miss Ella,
I said when she turned twenty-nine.
Mine has her own baby, is grown up, but just maybe
That one will turn out just fine.
That’s not my elephant, Miss Ella,
I said when she turned thirty-four.
Mine won't be a waiter, teaches smart second graders;
That one is merely a bore.
That’s not my elephant, Miss Ella,
I said when she turned forty-nine.
Mine is so quick, runs the mile in 20.6;
That one is soon left behind.
There is my elephant, Miss Ella,
Sitting under the palmetto tree.
See the white one, the bright one,
With a sign saying ‘Yes, it is me!’
[*peanut butter]
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