I read a story, carved in stone
By prehistoric man
It told of fearsome creatures;
Some walked, some flew, some ran.
The author was a man named Rex,
A hero in his day,
Who spent his waking hours in fear,
With little time for play!

He told us how he'd been attacked,
But then had refuge found,
Within a dark and gloomy cave,
Deep down below the ground.
Now there's no doubt, he must come out
If he's to find his dinner.
No food will grow down there, below,
And Rex will soon get thinner.

He must beware when he's up there,
He can't take any chances;
The dinosaurs still hunt him, too,
With hunger in their glances.
Before he leaves his sheltered spot,
Intent on dinner catching,
He must be satisfied there's not
A bigger hunter watching!

But Rex would never fail his task,
He'd never be found shirking,
Although behind each bush or rock
A monster might be lurking;
And if perchance he's caught by one
It would his family vex,
If they had warned him, all too late,
"TYRANNOSAURUS, REX!"

Youth is a state of the soul -
Nothing to do with age, but everything to do with attitude.
http://personal.nbnet.nb.ca/steldon/

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