Elephant, elephant, how,
can you hope to enter
into God's heavenly crowd?
The stairs are too narrow,
you won't float on clouds,
and so I have heard
it is forbidden to eat
the sweet and delectable leaves
of the heavenly acacia trees.
Perhaps if you went on a diet
or made a trunk call
to the angels above
to send you a long curling ramp,
which is fit for a herd
to walk undisturbed,
as they stomp and they stamp
on that last long migration
to those heavenly gates,
where bliss and salvation
most surely awaits.
But then again,
and perhaps,
you have more hope
than us,
who cut down the trees
and turn the jungles
to dust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem