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By: Brigitte Cronje
At the edge of the jungle in a
blue-green pool,
Little Hippo drifted in the evening’s cool.
This little hippo of a grey-pinkish hue was a little like me and a little like you.
He liked to laugh and play all day,
and often rolled his eyes at what his parents had to say.
Each night before bed they would sit by his side,
stroke his small ears and urge him to abide
by the five phrases they’d learnt when they too were just kids,
playing in the mud and losing their lunch-box lids.
Then his parents would lean over and kiss his cheeks.
And he would fall asleep smiling, dreaming of cheese and leeks.
Little Hippo was starting a new school.
He was excited but scared about looking a fool.
A new lunch box was needed and maybe some books,
so they went to the city and smart people gave them looks.
All the traffic and tar made Little Hippo grumpy.
He yearned for the jungle and paths softly bumpy.
The first school day was busy and long,
but thankfully it ended with a game and a song.
Wandering home, he caught sight of a park,
where he might chase a butterfly and listen to the song of a lark.
After rolling in the grass and staring up at the blue,
he rounded a corner and saw the rumours were true.
For there in a clearing, on a neatly mown lawn,
was a little fountain not too overly adorned —
except for the shining thing in the middle:
the Heart of Gold his parents had once described in a riddle.
Glittering and gleaming, like sunshine and syrup,
the heart was in a cage made from steel like old stirrups.
There must be a key, Little Hippo thought,
his own heart aflutter, his mouth a bit taut.
His parents had often mentioned the heart,
how opening the cage was no great art.
Then his eyes fell on a sign at the bottom of the cage,
The words upon it written in moss and sage:
This cage of old holds the Heart of Gold.
It is always warm, never cold.
It has a lock that can’t be opened by what you see,
for your heart turned towards others is the actual key.
If you want to hold the Heart of Gold,
show love and kindness; be warm, not cold.
Little Hippo sighed as he read the words again.
He dug in his pockets and felt a wash of shame.
Surely kindness and warmth meant giving a lot?
But a hanky, snail and seeds were all he’d got.
The following day at his new school,
the lunch bell rang and Hippo started to drool.
His tummy was growling and he hurried outside,
opened his lunchbox to see what was inside.
As he settled down to tuck into his lunch,
he heard a rumble and a grumble — quite a bunch.
Sitting on the bench on the other side of the tree
was a sad-looking hippo scratching her knee.
She had no lunch, no seeds or rye.
When she looked at Little Hippo, she started to cry.
He looked in his lunch box and counted his seeds,
and wondered how many 18 of them feeds.
Despite his rumbles and his tummy feeling bare,
he decided this would be a good time to learn to share.
Wednesday came, the sun bright and loose,
and Little Hippo came to class with an extra snail mousse.
Walking home later that day, Little Hippo heard a
BOO HOO, BOO HOO not far away.
Stopping dead in his tracks, he looked around,
searching for the owner of the lonely sound.
After hunting through the grass and taking a rest,
he spied a little bird that had fallen from its nest.
Patting his pockets for something to help,
he suddenly remembered and let out a yelp
as he found the hanky he’d thought was useless,
but now would prove to be nothing short of priceless.
For his new feather friend, he fashioned a sling
and gently hummed and cooed as he wrapped its wing.
Then he quickly twirled together a nest
so the little bird could safely rest.
And carried him home atop his head,
his new friend tucked into a blossom bed.
The first week of school rushed by in a blur —
Slumberday, Sunnyday came in a whirr.
Before he knew it, it was Monday again,
and time for maths and sitting next to Len.
.
Arriving early, Little Hippo was shocked to see
his teacher scrubbing a wall of graffiti.
‘Hippos drool and turtles rule!’ is what it said.
Little Hippo felt sad in his head.
So he took up a brush and started to scrub,
and a rhythm grew as they continued to rub.
As the words started to fade, an idea began to rise.
Little Hippo thought of making a wonderful surprise.
He asked his teacher for some paints and brush,
Maybe a ladder, but she need not rush.
He started to paint and started to splash,
Here a bloom of colour, more than just a dash.
Not even halfway done, he felt someone’s stare,
and turning to look, he found a turtle standing there.
Little Hippo offered him a brush with fine bristles,
And the pair worked together, the air filled with their whistles.
Stepping back to admire their vibrant scene,
hippo and turtle felt as though in a dream,
for there before them was more than a wall pardon,
But a buzzing, bright and brilliant garden.
On his way home that day, Little Hippo sat on a rock.
He thought of the things he’d learnt on the school clock.
He’d shared his food and helped a feathery friend,
and brought beauty where ugliness had tried to offend.
He’d shared all the toys and crafts with others,
played games with friends, sisters and brothers.
He’d shown kindness and care to those misunderstood,
just like a young hippo - and anyone - should.
At the weekend, when his Mom went to the city
to have her hair done to make her feel pretty,
he begged and pleaded to go along for the ride.
Maybe he’d find that cage again and look inside.
Once they got to town, he asked to go to the park,
so he could show his mother the heart and listen to the lark.
When they reached the fountain, he couldn’t believe his eyes:
the cage was gone, but the heart sat like a prize.
Perched on a lily pad, glowing so bright,
Little Hippo couldn’t help himself and reached out with delight.
As his finger touched the surface of syrupy gold,
the heart floated towards him as though it was being told.
Brighter and brighter, it settled in his hand,
and he hugged it tighter than he’d initially planned.
All of a sudden, the Golden Heart vanished.
Tearful and bewildered, Little Hippo felt banished.
He peered at his hands but there was nothing but dust –
but suddenly his heartbeat grew loud, like it would bust.
You see, the golden heart had gone inside his chest,
and he felt the warm glow of being his best.
Little Hippo then looked down at his arms and legs,
and that grey-pinkish hue was now the colour of gold eggs.
From that day on, Little Hippo shone bright.
He helped new friends and sad friends and remembered what’s right:
that kindness costs nothing, that kindness is free.
And being kind to others comes from you and from me.
