Sunday reflection . . . The Gnomes


Buried in the sand of legend, this little man with peaked red cap,
A blue smock with a byronic collar, a tool kit around the waist;
His face in shades, and his cheek apple red,
His gray eyes are soul searching, they unravel secrets with a single glance…

The true lord of the wild, a fact known to beasts in the jungle,
Their language he speaks, in distress he provides their needs;
In his company safety is assured, and this wall of trust
Is built by thousands of years of unwavering rapport…

Often sought out by Wolf, Lynx, Fox and the likes,
Never too hard to find him, the gnome knows they need him;
Thus a close contact is maintained, in and out of season,
And without too much sulking, in return they do his bidding…

Indispensable to the animal world, this physician of the wild,
Armed by sharp intellect and technical skills, miracles are weaved;
When a fox is piqued by ticks embedded in the skin,
The gnome lulls the ticks to sleep, and then twist it out in one peace…

When two Stags antlers become entangled during a fight,
Or when a sharp object is swallowed by a goat or a cow,
In distress and in pain, and a Vet not within a call
the gnome is known always to cover up…

When a rabbit is caught in a snare or on a trap fastened by the tree,
A gnome will come through, with a file and set it free;
In addition he heals broken limbs from shotgun or riffle fire,
Animals wounded in these ways withdraws into thicket or to the gnomes empire…

When the Goose grieves over an acorn lodged in her throat,
Or the Badger suffers under perforated cornea;
There comes the gnome like de genie on a swinging rope,
Even to the Antelope, gnome is the beacon of hope…

His knowledge of acupuncture span thousands of years,
With gold or silver needles, uncommon healing is achieved;
When a Squirrel is at lost en route to chambers of buried nuts,
The gnome’s infallible memory comes to its rescue at once…

He is no friend of the Spider, yet a certain code is maintained:
Never to destroy the spider’s web for the ill-luck it might bring;
Otters are handy helpers, they transport him over streams and rivers,
Swimming and giggling constantly, the ferries the gnome to the other side…

He is the doctor in the wild, his clinics hiding from human eyes,
He’s much like the Elves, Uldras and all that rules the night;
For the harm done to plants and animals, the gnome grieves on his bed,
And at human wanton stupidity, the gnome shakes his head.

Dedicated to: Rein Poortvliet and Wil Huggen( whose work on life and times of gnome written after 20years of observation, inspired this poem)

Text and image source: Andrew Ezeudegbe

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