There are 50 great states in this nation of ours—
Each one is lit boldly with a glowing white star.

 

And in a small nook down the coast of the East,
A district sits there on perpetual lease.

 

Columbia it’s called, better known as “DC,”
And it serves as the capitol where the people are free.

 

It’s a nice place to visit (if you don’t mind the heat).
You’d be quite well served with a spare pair of feet.

 

There are many special places, but one I should mention—
A place where Abe’s honest eyes steal all the attention.

 

But if you look closely (and I mean really focus),
There are two creatures there, and it’s no hocus pocus.

 

One is a donkey quite modest in size,
100 times smaller than a Cracker Jack prize.

 

His companion is larger, about the size of an ant,
Which is really quite small for a grown elephant.

 

The two lived there together in the cracks of the stone,
And despite all the crowds, they lived quite alone.

 

For nobody saw them, they drew not a glance,
Until something happened one day, by fate or by chance.

 

But first, let us talk about these two splendid creatures.
Each one loved to lecture like a sort of a teacher.

 

But while one creature spoke, the other would fume,
And say take that hot air and go fill a balloon.

 

It was like that you see, day in and day out.
Each sunrise brought new things to argue about.

 

They quibbled and quabbled and dickered and bickered,
And so it left both feeling knackered and knickered.

 

While one had been praising the Glomar Explorer,
A voice rang out and to both of their horror.

 

There stood a child, both fearsome and tall.
(But between you and I, she was kindly and small.)

 

“I can hear you, you know,” the young lady said.
The two creatures’ faces were sunken with dread.

 

But they were saved by a holler, the girl’s parents you see,
They had planned six o’ clock dinner; it was five fifty three.

 

“Coming,” she said as she stepped back and away,
Toward the garrulous crowd on a midsummer day.

 

But she had in her hand a two colored chalk,
And she drew a small picture while her mom and dad balked.

 

“Goodbye,” the girl said, while smiling and waving.
The creatures, they eyeballed her inverse engraving.

 

Two dots and a line with a circle around it, 
The drawing puzzled the creatures and left them confounded.

 

“Now see here,” said one, “that left dot is me.”
“I must be the right one, but what could it mean?”

 

The creatures hopped down, and oh yes!—they pondered.
They drifted further apart; the fringes they wandered.

 

But then something happened when the gap was most distant.
The creatures drew nearer; it was sudden and instant.

 

For that young girl was wise, they both knew it so.
Her picture reminded them of a time long ago.

 

Two dots make a line, the ends always retreat,
But a slight little give makes a circle that meets.

 

The friends shared common ground and basked in their lesson,
Both putting aside their prior aggression.

 

When one creature spoke, the other, he listened.
And so the world turned, and so the sun glistened.

 

Each day then grew brighter, the darkness had past.
An old ailing ship had rebuilt its mast.

 

I have but one postscript, though this is the end:
These creatures soon welcomed a third kindly friend.