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MIN ON A PIN by Pete Maher |
New Perspectives
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At the edge of the earth, Where the icebergs give birth, There’s a land full of wonder and joy. Where a dream or two, Will surely come true, For each little girl and boy.
There’s rivers and streams, Of silver blue greens, Snowy mountains that reach to the sky. Lakes and lagoons, Echo cries of the loons, And the sunsets bedazzle the eye.
It’s the home of the moose, The beaver and goose, The maple in bright coloured glory. They all know a tale, Told by a whale, Would you like to hear the strange story?
There’s a town called Min, On the head of a pin, Stuck in an old lady’s hat. When she moves around, Well so does the town, And nobody knows but her cat.
Sometimes at night, When the moon shines bright, And there’s magical mists in the air. He hears people talking, And footsteps walking, When not even a mouse is astir.
The Mayor of the town, Is a funny old clown, Who wears cymbals on both of his feet. The Lady Mayoress, Wears a pink spotted dress, And taps her foot to the beat.
A blue cockatoo, Runs the local zoo, And a goldfish works in the bank. He’s scared of the water, But his youngest daughter, Likes swimming all day in a tank.
Myrtle the turtle, Who’s green and striped purple, Is the Chief of the fire brigade. She looks rather slow, But I’d like you to know, Everyones always been saved.
The Chief of police, Is the kangaroos niece, And her pouch is the Min county jail. But there’s been no crime, In such a long time, She also delivers the mail.
A duckbilled platypus, Drives the old school bus, To the school house down by the creek. His wife is a beaver, Who uses a cleaver. To save wear and tear on her teeth.
The children of Min, Love to go for a swim, In the creek by the railroad tracks, The lifeguards are ‘gators, Who only eat ‘taters, And the kids all ride on their backs.
The ‘gators are tame, And join any game, Snakes and ladders, hopscotch, and jacks. It wouldn’t be funny, To be in the tummy, Of a ‘gator who ate kids for snacks.
The kids all play hockey, Both sides of the Rockies, Till the season is over in spring. When the ice on the rivers, Quivers and shivers, And the songbirds return on the wing.
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In a tree on a hill, Lives a squirrel named Bill, Four blue jays, three owls, and a crow. Two robins, a wren, Humming birds, and a hen. Who lives with her chicks down below.
The food’s lots of fun, Like hot dogs on a bun, And corn on a cob on a stick, But ice cream on toast, Is avoided by most, And pickles in jam make you sick.
In a house down the road, A great big old toad, Eats mosquitoes and flys by the bunch. When he cannot get those, He nibbles his toes, Or maybe has cabbage for lunch.
A chipmunk named Humpy, Has a brother named Lumpy, Who carries his food in his cheeks. This makes Humpy grumpy, And angry with Lumpy, Cos the food all spits out when he speaks.
Rabbits and deer, Roam far and near, Through the grasslands, flowers and trees. Glow worms in the park, Light up at dark, And sail away on the warm summer breeze.
An old arctic hare, And a young polar bear, Played happily in the snow. They saw a butterfly, Gently flutter by, Set the northern lights all aglow.
There are chimps and raccoons, Wolves howling at moons, But nobody really knows why. There’s goats and a lark, It’s like Noahs Ark. And giraffes with their heads in the sky.
There are lions and monkeys, And tigers and donkeys, And they all get along rather well. There’re foxes and dragons, And a horse who pulls wagons. And skunks who don’t even smell.
There’s elephants and eagles, And parrots and beagles, And swallows up high on a shelf. And the last unicorn, Who ever was born, Lives all alone by himself.
His best friend next door, Is a great dinosaur, Who’s too big to fit in a house. He just has a door, No roof, walls, or floor. And he wished he were small like a mouse.
Small girls and boys, Sometimes make lots of noise, And the big ones can make a real din, But some are so small, You can’t hear them at all. They’re the tiny wee children of Min.
So if you see a cat, Who sits on a mat, And does nothing but wiggle an ear, If his whiskers start twitching, He just may be listening, To people we can’t even hear.
Min on a pin can’t be seen It’s only part of a dream Under the northern star That’s the place to be for you and me. It’s Canadians we are.
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