Safari Poem by Richard D Remler

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Sir Barnabas Whittle McFittish McTeek
Has been gone on safari
His thirty-third week,
Hunting the Hubbable, Dubbable Tock
In the Boulderbread Valley
Of Rikatick Rock.

He's been hoping to find
The great Tuskatan Tick,
For he's learned a new
Tuskatan Tick catching trick
That involves a green whozzle,
A whizzer, a Wheeze,
And a purple pea popper
With seventeen keys.
A finger that points
Everywhere,
Here and there.
And the porcupine pit
From a pineapple pear.
And it's a something
He's fixing to give a good try,
Should a Tuskatan Tick
A'come wandering by.
And the last one
Was spotted ages ago...
I guess that's why Barnabas
Searches just so.

Last April and May
He was in the North Sea,
Searching for something
Much bigger than he.
A something that fozzles
And ibbles its toes.
A critter with twenty-three
Stringy elbows.
And he found it, he did.
And quite curiously,
He took a few pictures,
Then he set the thing free.

And late, late last year
He sailed into the sky
Where the mountains hang low
And the rivers run high.
He brought his Olometer-Lomit along,
Just to capture one note
From a wee little song
The WittleNitt sing
When they think they're alone.
He recorded his song,
And then he went home.

He'd found a small rainbow
Somewhere in the sea -
Where no other rainbows
Or stars cared to be.
He said it'd been weeping,
And weeping so long,
It hadn't the strength
To keep shimmering on.
And so Barnabas played it
The WitterNitt song,
And it paused in its sorrow
And dried every tear -
And seemed a happier rainbow
Than it'd been all year.

Now he's exploring
The Rikatick Rock,
And hunting the Hubbable,
Dubbable Tock.
He is deep on safari,
His thirty-third week,
Old Barnabas Whittle McFittish McTeek...
He's marching through brambles,
And bimbles and bees,
He's climbing up rickety, knickety trees.
He's burndishing bobbles, and frandishing fibbs,
And if there are Gondalar Idgets about,
He's got dibs.

He's searching the low,
And he's searching the high,
As far as the Waterwoods reach
To the sky...

As deep into the blue
As the rain-forests run,
Through Orion's belt
And 'round Nibia's sun.
Until he finds the grand beast
In it's most noble grace,
Every odd shadow,
And shade in its place,
And Barnabas spies the sly
Grin on its face.

Only then will he
Probably nod a hello,
Note the treasure he found,
And then he will go
And search for another
Grand find as we speak.
If it takes him the thirty-third
Part of a week.
For he's Barnabas Whittle McFittish McTeek-
And you'll know him right well
If you just sneak a peak.


Copyright © MMXIV Richard D. Remler