by Kat Henak

(First place – adult competition)

Dedicated to Bob Mather -

Donkey stamp collector extraordinaire

Sighed Penny, a fickle bird sorting her stamps,

"I’m tired and I’m bored

And my wing’s full of cramps

And just sitting here gives me a pain in the groin!

These stamps! How I hate them!

I’d rather sort coins!

I’d be a numismatist, do what I pleased,

If I just could find someone to sort all of these!

If I could find someone, I’d fly away–free..."

Then Bob, the old donkey, passed under her tree.

"Hello!" called the bird on a whim and a thought,

"I’m busy and tired. I see that you’re not.

Would YOU like to sort all the stamps in my lot?"

But the donkey just laughed.

"Why now, isn’t that dumb!

You know that I have no opposable thumbs.

My hooves would just dent your collection, you see.

And how would I ever get into that tree?"

"Oh, pooh," answered Penny, "I’m sure you’ll do fine.

So your limbs have no thumbs? Yes, well, neither do mine.

Just handle them gently. It shouldn’t be tough,

Cause you’re certainly gentle and patient enough."

"I can’t," Bob replied.

Said the bird, "You can too!

And you know that I’d do the same favor for you.

I won’t be gone long. I’ll be back in a jiffy."

"Alright," said old Bob, "but it seems a bit iffy...

Since you want a break, then go off and have fun.

I’ll stay here and sort your stamp lots till you’re done.

I’ll sort them quite gently. I’ll try, anyway..."

But Penny was gone. There was no more to say.

"Now the first thing to do," mused the donkey, "Let’s see..."

As he piled up stamp albums under the tree,

"I must fashion these stamp albums into some stairs.

It’s the only way I’ll reach those stamps way up there."

Then slowly,

Unsteadily,

Gently he clopped

From the base of the tree

To the stamps at the top.

Old Bob grinned with pride like a heavyweight champ,

And he sorted

And sorted,

And SORTED those stamps.

He sorted all day

And he filed and he counted.

He sorted all night

And he hinged and he mounted.

The clock ticked and it tocked

And it struck and it toned!

"This is so very boring,"

The poor donkey groaned.

"I wish she’d come back.

This is so slow and tiring.

Let’s face it, these stamp lots just aren’t that inspiring."

But Penny, by now, was unreachably gone

In a backwater shop known as Mark’s Coin and Pawn

And the bright, shiny coins had so dazzled her eyes

She gave up stamps entirely. (What a surprise.)

So Bob just kept sorting them, hour after hour.

The sky became cloudy. It started to shower.

And then came the hailstorm...and poor Bob was pelted

He sheltered the stamps from the ice that had melted

And vowed as the ice balls bounced off of his flanks:

"I’ll keep sorting stamps and I won’t ask for thanks!

I told her the truth

And the truth’s what I told.

I made her a promise,

And that I’ll uphold."

So poor, bruised Bob sorted

Two days and two nights,

And the bird did not come back

To set things to rights!

Bob’s friends gathered round

And they hooted with glee.

"Look! Look! Bob is up

Sorting stamps in a tree!"

They laughed and they frolicked.

They called him a nerd.

"That donkey thinks he’s

A philatelist bird!"

They laughed till they cried. Then they all dashed away.

Poor Bob was quite lonely. He wanted to play.

But he gritted his teeth, and continued to say:

"I told her the truth

And the truth’s what I told.

I made her a promise

And that I’ll uphold.

I’ve got to keep trying

For just one more hinge!"

But poor old Bob’s troubles

Had gone on a binge.

For as Bob was sorting,

So faithful, so kind,

He heard the men’s footsteps!

He turned with a jolt!

They wanted to rope Bob

Like he was a colt!

Did he run?

Bob stayed up in that tree

For he valued his word

More than his being free.

He just glared at the farmers

As if he would jeer:

"You can try if you want

But I’m not leaving here!

I told her the truth

And the truth’s what I told.

I made her a promise

And that I’ll uphold."

But the men dropped their ropes!

They stood quite open-jawed

In amazed disbelief.

They were shocked. They were awed.

"I don’t get it," they said.

"It’s a wonder to me

But what kind of donkey sorts stamps?

In a tree?"

They each shouted suggestions:

"He’s stupid!"

"He’s lazy!"

"Psychologically deviant!"

"Well, I say he’s crazy!"

But they all then agreed it was wonderfully funny

And they sold him to their local stamp club for money.

They sold poor, tired Bob with his stamps and his tree.

He was shown at stamp expos for people to see.

They showed him at SESCAL and NOJEX and STAMPSHOW,

At MILCOPEX, WESTPEX, St. Louis Stamp Expo.

They showed him at AIRPEX and BALPEX and NAPEX

At INDYPEX, ARIPEX, PIPEX, and VAPEX.

Poor Bob kept on sorting, each place he was sent,

Though he wondered where Penny, the fickle bird, went.

"I told her the truth

And the truth’s what I told.

I made her a promise

And that I’ll uphold."

Then...one day

They showed him way out in Waupun

Right next to a shop they call Mark’s Coin and Pawn.

"Oh, goody!" said Penny. "Looks like fun to me!"

(She’d already tired of coins now, you see.

And much more than that, she completely forgot

Why she left poor, poor Bob in his horrible spot.)

So she flew from the shop

To the stamp show next door...

"My goodness!" screeched Penny,

"I’ve seen YOU before!"

Bob’s head jerked up fast with relief and surprise,

When the stamp he’d just sorted caught both of his eyes.

Bob let out a hee-haw of amazement, delight,

As he held the stamp up to the fluorescent light.

What a catch! What a find!

Bob cried out, "Look here, Penny!

Come look at my stamp! IT’S AN INVERTED JENNY!"

"It’s MY stamp!" shrieked the bird, "And you’d better return it!"

(She liked a reward. She just hated to earn it.)

"Get out of my tree! Get out now, while you can!"

"Just wait," warned the expo security man.

"You say they’re your stamps. But he’s had them for ages.

Would he work so for you? Were you paying him wages?

Do you have any proof in support of your claim?

Now, come on, Mrs. Bird. Tell me, what is the game?"

Then Penny said nothing, for Penny was scared.

She didn’t have proof, for she never had cared.

The man stood in silence, then just shook his head.

"I think they are all Bob the donkey’s," he said.

The philatelists gathered to marvel and cheer

At the stamps Bob had sorted for one-quarter year.

And all were quite happy–except maybe Penny–

That after such work, good old Bob got the Jenny.

For he sorted stamps still, when the bird didn’t come.

(And he did it without an opposable thumb!)

He told her the truth...

(Now it’s just getting old.)

Well, they sent Bob home happy.

Our story is told.