Alexander Giraffe and Priscilla Raccoon

by Marisa Montes

lived atop a high shelf in a musty old room.

Alexander'd been loved by a girl and a boy,

and he'd never forgotten those feelings of joy.

He looked much worse for wear, for he'd hardly a hair,

and Priscilla kept sticking her nose in the air:

"Oh, how scruffy you look! And you've only one eye—

if I looked like you do, I would just want to die!"

"I do wish you could know what it's like to feel love,

to feel far more important than stars up above;

to be sure that your presence can make someone smile;

to believe if you're lost, they'd walk mile after mile—

just to find you and hug you and hold you so near

that you're certain that nobody else is as dear."

"Oh, pooh-pooh!" said Priscilla. "That's just poppycock!

All that you ever do is talk-talk and talk-talk!

As for me, I'd prefer a nice, shiny new coat

than be fingered and touched and look like an old goat!"

Alexander Giraffe gave a shivery sigh.

"Would you like to hear why I have only one eye?

Why my mane is all knots and my coat is quite bare?

But why none of this matters—why I just don't care?"

"Oh, you'll talk about smiles and the stars up above—"

"No, I'll tell you the story of Timothy's love:"

On a bleak afternoon, when the clouds were dark gray,

I was placed in a box and was hustled away

from the shop where I lived—it was all I had known—

to the house where I stayed till my Kate was all grown.

Then my Kate moved away to a house of her own,

and she took me along—didn't leave me alone.

There Kate had a small boy, whom she named Timothy,

and that dear little boy became quite fond of me.

Then one day, Timothy became terribly ill,

and he lay in his bed, oh, so scary and still . . .

Well, I fretted, I did, but then what could I do

but to stay by his side?—but to stick there like glue!

His brave Mom came each day, and she held us both near,

and she sang us a song in a voice soft and clear:

"May you never forget what it's like to feel love,

to feel far more important than stars up above;

to be sure that your presence can make Mommy smile;

to believe if you're lost, I'd walk mile after mile—

just to find you and hug you and hold you so near

that you're certain that nobody else is as dear."

Now, for many a week, Tim remained in his bed,

till at last he began to lift up his weak head.

Oh, my spirits soared high! But alas!—far too soon:

Timmy stayed in his bed from December to June.

When one day Tim arose, he could not walk a step;

he collapsed on the floor—he had lost all his pep.

After that, all he'd do was to sit in a chair:

Near his window, he sat, and he'd stare, and he'd stare.

One bright morning, Kate took us both out for a spin

to the garden—a wonderful place to begin

all the healing of heart and of soul and of mind—

all the healing required of one who is blind.

And so, day after day, we sat out in the sun—

in the garden where once my dear Tim used to run.

There, each day, his sweet Mom would pull each of us near

and sing out in a voice that was loving and clear:

"Don't you ever forget what it's like to feel love,

to feel far more important than stars up above . . . "

And dear Tim held me tight, and he sang it to me:

Sang it strong, sang it loud—his young voice rang out free:

"Just remember your presence can make Timmy smile;

and believe if you're lost, I'll walk mile after mile . . . "

Then one day, when Tim's Mom stepped back into our home,

a stray dog from the woods came in search of a bone.

The dog sniffed Timmy's lap, then he spied my bright eye,

and he stole me away, before Timmy could cry!

Somehow, Tim found the strength to rise up from his chair,

and he stumbled about, feeling nothing but air.

Still, he followed the sounds of the dog's pounding paws

and its growl as it shook me in its deadly jaws.

When the dog dumped me down—he'd grown bored with his prey—

someone tripped on my neck, and the dog loped away.

I felt hands lift me up, and I heard a soft sigh.

I could sense it was Tim, but I'd lost my last eye.

And so, blindly we stumbled about in the wood,

traveling further and further from all that was good.

Tim sank down by a tree, knowing not where to go,

and the cold settled 'round us and filled us with woe.

Timmy clung to me tight and soon started to sing—

he sang out and rejoiced in the strength songs can bring:

"Now you know what it's like to have someone you love

think you're far more important than stars up above."

In the distance we heard a clear voice echo Tim's,

and the musical notes brought new life to his limbs:

"Never doubt that your presence can make Mommy smile;

and be sure when you're lost, I'll walk mile after mile . . . "

Soon we felt her reach out and pull both of us near,

and we each were sure nobody else was as dear.

Tim's Mom whisked us away, and she brought us back home,

from which Timmy and I both vowed never to roam!

"Alexander Giraffe!" cried Priscilla Raccoon.

"You have forced me to cry and to hate this old room!

I was happier when I had never seen love,

when I never felt envy for stars up above!"

"Do not fear, my dear friend, your own time will come soon—"

Then the door opened wide—someone entered the room:

a small girl and her Dad and his seeing-eye dog.

The past years slipped away, all seemed blurred in a fog.

"Up there, Dad! Right up there—on that shelf way up high—

it's a scruffy giraffe that has only one eye."

Her Dad found Alexander and let out a sigh.

Then he said to his friend, "Never did find that eye."

"What a pretty raccoon! Could I keep her, please, Dad?"

said the girl, then she added, "Her eyes look so sad."

The girl held out her arms, pulled Priscilla quite near,

and she sang right out loud so that all there could hear:

"Now forever you'll know what it's like to feel love,

to feel far more important than stars up above;

to be sure that your presence can make Jennie smile;

to believe if you're lost, I'll walk mile after mile—

just to find you and hug you and hold you so near

that you're certain that nobody else is as dear."