The Elephant

If white in the strength of tusks, and rows

in gray tremors of flesh, in sultry grass

can nonetheless charm, where innocence sows

in eyes, sweetly black, not a heart can pass,

If sudden, the horizon, would kiss my eyes,

by revealing the might of graceful ears,

and long, may the day, be spent in sighs,

as watching, these lenses produce such tears,

when dripping, the iris, so compromised,

now bends to my face, as callous in years

as the Elephant’s foot, a traveling prize

of God’s comely Art, in these elegant peers

of nature and a man, not killing, would dare

to tear apart skin, from a rifle’s pout,

nor ivory drunk, nor planning a snare,

would destroy the love, that life is about!

Instead, shall I sit, and recount this tale

of a giant, so gentle, as to muzzle its trunk

‘round that of another terrestrial whale

Who somberly loves, even its dead, when passing into such silent hunks,

around which gather, these creatures pale

with the same grief's line as ours, when sunk

our metal-grazed boats, “unsinkable,” stale

with the rust of pride, of theories debunked!

Ah! What it takes, for a soul to ignore

what undeserved grace, these babies force

upon cynical hearts, from life abhorred,

who alive, now spring, from seeing, of course,

these Elephant calves, whose eyes so smile

as to calm all Storms of our fears, the while

they frolick about, and form a pile

of mischievous flesh, which knows no guile!

Still can one say, even famished, and sad,

that to live has a light, as miracles show

in the thickness of gray, so charmingly clad

upon the skeleton, grand, and a trunk’s loud blow!

But stop, no I can’t, in literal writ,

when metaphor’s force won’t stand to die,

for much can we take, from Elephant wit,

and use it, in fact, to think lofty and high!

Think of what’s grand, and the damage it could

so sorely inflict, in ancient battles,

as man’s own sin, which before then should

have frozen in awe, and remained so rattled

as to ponder this: "if a child’s glisten we could turn so cruel,

then ought we not dress these Elephants, too?

Douse them in armor, and make them charge?"

Like purity, defiled, in nature’s hue

of gray and white, have we come to:

ignore the beauty, trash the face,

of all things Elephant, like Madame Defarge,

sew intricate things, when death we embrace

and pretending to light, while malice looms large!

Was it so good, that these thoughts so won

our wayward chiefs, who in blood, came undone?

Now, though I must, bid symbols part

from this little Song, where truly I’d rather

sing to the precious perfections, in Art,

that these, such creatures, comprise such matter:

that frown turns to warmth,

and hatred to love,

when misanthrope forth,

meets the peace of a dove

in Elephant tales, and my love letter

to nature's crown, or of God’s works, 

the better.

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R.V. Smith: “The Elephant”, 07-19-25

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© 2025 by Ryan Vincent Smith