Old Thing. 
Is there anything new in your world?
Did some sillier microsaur with
knotted top and tiny feet
carry you, shell-over, to this place
an age before this silly poodle did?
Old Thing of the woods, we will not open you.
Go.

Old Thing.
I apologize for the giggling and the ink, and the
photographs, but not for this poodle.
She is, after all, a turtle-herd.
The water was to cool you, and in case
we and too much Sun had made you thirst.
Old Thing; I did not let the butterfly alight,
just in case you feel the weight of age and ages.
Go in peace.

Old Thing, I did not write
"This is not a Toy," or "Batteries not Included."
We just called you "1," 
in case we meet again.
Now, Go.

Old Thing?
Are you in there...?
Ah!
Goodbye -- this time, hide better.
Old Thing
is gone, and green, dark mystery restored.

©  Copyright, 1999; Malcolm Beckett