Just a boy, an Ichabod sort with feet too big and a nose too short.
Long legged and gangling he resembled a crane, one half grown
with strawberry hair and bright amber eyes rich as the best port.
Those eye how they gleamed, watched Phi's queer plan take shape,
she was in need of some help if this plan had the chance to prevail.
Phi required someone who wielded wonders, a Great Towel Cape!
Young Hero Campbell was just such a requisite—enterprising fellow.
With a temper as sweet, as biting as his bright hair he said, 'Hey you!’
Phi in her haste to reach that bucket, tripped…winded as a bellows.
Grey eyes burned, a quiet rage, Phi gained her feet belying her age.
No tears trickled o'er her sand abraided knees, she Queen Phi—
regal as you please, awaited the champion to save her old sage.
Hero Campbell, a champion, rash and untutored, willing to try
strolled through the goldening growth of shore grass, stretched
a long finger hand to reach her. Queen Phi who refused to cry.
With a nod and a whistle he accepted her quest to save the Fox,
for he could reach where the very small could not, should not be—
Hero with his towel a’ billow waded into sheets to seek the Socks.
Fast as a mumble, soft as rain he faced the waves of clean white.
Not blade of grass, nor loam ripe fingerprints could be left behind
or a wily old raptor would have him in her frumiously keen sight.
To save the Sock, a good Hero required a faithful, fearless steed.
And for Hero, his beast was quite fine, a Tyrannosaurus, rueful—
of his teeth, his size, his might. Just the dinosaur for such a deed.
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