25 April 2012
There once was a man, Called Roger McDan, Who lived in Southend-on-Sea; His house was a tip, As rank as a skip, And his only companion: a Flea.
This flea, he called Mike, And when on his bike, McDan would take him along: With Mike holding tight, To a pin on the light, They'd pedal away from the pong.
One day in the spring, A very strange thing, Befell our flea hero Mike; McDan said, "a ride!" But Mike was denied, His regular place on his bike.
He jumped, And he bounced, And he heaved, And he pounced, But couldn't leap up to the light; His size was too small, And the bike was too tall, For minuscule Mike, (the poor mite).
Poor Mike was bemused, Stunned and confused, As to why he now couldn't reach; So he paced to and fro, To work out how to go, For a ride on that bike to the beach.
Mike squeaked a flea-cheer: "I've got an IDEA!" He said to McDan over tea; "I can't be much smaller... So I need to be TALLER, So TALLER is what I shall be!"
"Don't be a dunce!" Said McDan all at once, "How on earth will you Increase your height?? I am six feet and two, Whilst down there is
you: A teeny two millimetre mite!"
Mike though for a while, And then gave a smile, "Why, the answer's as simple as pegs! If it's all about FEET, Then I'll count and repeat, The sum total of both of our LEGS!"
And that's just what he did, That most cunning aphid, And 'fore long, he was done, And they knew; So now Mike is not small, He's SIX flea-feet tall, And poor old McDan's only TWO.
Mike The Flea • Opuss № I