The Land of Mites and Maybees
Long, long ago
on an island far away,
sat The Land of Mites and Maybees
to the left of Backbone Bay.
The mites were hearty creatures,
they would never hurt a soul.
But their problem was they never could
achieve a single goal.
They knew just what they wanted,
and they'd ponder it at length,
but when it came to action,
they just didn't have the strength.
The maybees were quite similar,
with only slight revisions.
They'd say "maybe this" and "maybe that",
but never reached decisions.
There was a king, King Know It All,
who loved to take advantage
of these measly mites and maybees
whom without him could not manage.
Or so they thought, for they'd been told
and learned so deep within
that there's just no sense in trying
when you know you cannot win.
And so the king, with ruling hand
grew stronger every day.
For the mites and maybees just assumed
that his was the best way.
Till one bright day, out of the blue,
a mini-mite was walking
and in his sheltered innocence,
he suddenly began talking.
"Why do we weed our gardens by hand
when it's faster with a hoe?
And why do we sled in summertime
instead of in the snow?
"Why do we paint our buildings brown,
when red is so much brighter?
And why do we carry sacks of rocks
when stones are so much lighter?"
The mini-mite kept asking more,
like a record that was broken.
Though all of them had thought these things,
none had ever spoken.
"Shhh! Pipe down!", were the frightened cries
as they worried their king would hear.
The mites and maybees looked around,
their eyes spread wide with fear.
"I'll be quiet", said the mini-mite,
"but I just have one more querry.
If there's more of us than there is of him,
why is he so scary?"
The mites and maybees pondered this,
this thought that was quite new.
And as they tugged and wrestled it,
the logic in it grew.
Suddenly everything seemed so clear;
they all had minds of their own,
so why were they letting King Know It All
rule his mighty throne?
Well, it didn't take long once this thought was in place,
for weeds to be pulled out with hoes.
And it didn't take long for paint to be red
and for sleds to be used when it snows.
Soon the king got weaker, and finally left;
Left the whole kingdom far behind.
For he realized that not even he was as strong
as the power of speaking your mind.
(C) 1998, Arden Davidson
I am trying to find a publisher or agent
to represent any or all of the stories and poems
in "A Pocketful of Rhymes".
If you know anyone that can help, or have comments,
please e-mail me.Thanks!