I'm Violet B. Sturdy, otherwise Nerdy.
I'm 12 years of age, and though no sage,
I like to collect from nature's select,
use weird words, spot birds,
tree climb and communicate in rhyme.
If I chose prose,
I'd stutter. Attempt to mutter
the simplest thought and it's caught.
When I'm writing, I'm also fighting.
But my granny thought, if she taught
me how to rhyme, I'd have a good time.
And then free speech might ensue. It was true!
***
Now don't be thinking I'm rinky dinking.
Accept, if you can, a man,
not a boy, slightly larger than a Ken or Barbie toy.
For there, under the porch, is a tiny person carrying a tiny torch.
Fairies, although it varies,
are small-under ten inches tall.
And thanks to show biz, the elf is
widely known. Well, here alone
I stand with what can
only be a felf-part fairy, part elf-
a being approximately fourteen
inches high. And my
guess as to weight, in pounds, around eight.
Dressed in what can be expressed
as a mixture of couture
of the globe, he wears a kimono robe-
brilliant red- an emerald turban on his head,
plaid kilt around his middle cinched with a little
belt that looks to be orange felt,
white shirt and blue tie, all bull's eye
neat. And on his feet,
shoes fit for a muse-
the things have wings!
Have I gone mad?
Has the fall knocked all
my brains to bits? It's
too shocking! Then he starts talking!
"What bliss to finally meet you Miss!
I'm Bernie Folks, neither a hoax,
nor a stranger, but a Certified Exchanger,
real, and here to seal
our fellowship, or friendship.
For some time, I've watched you rhyme.
You're tall. I'm small.
If you're not afraid, I'd like your aid."
I pinch myself, for the felf,
he speaks in rhyme! I'm
dumbfounded! Completely astounded!
Oblivious to my whereabouts, having many doubts
about the object of my focus, I await hocus pocus.
Bernie holds out his hand to shake. His flesh looks real, not fake.
I'm game, do the same,
and reply: "Hi."
Illustrated by Kristen Shoemaker
Read by Jennifer Rogers
I'm 12 years of age, and though no sage,