The dinosaurs are on the march again.
They have trampled across the terrace overnight,
Leaving green, veined footprints in their wake.
Now they lurk in the undergrowth;
They are waiting their moment.
They are biding their time.
Then, one morning,
High on a ledge
A yellow pterodactyl head appears.
Hook-skulled and snarling,
It scans the sky.
The next day it has flown,
Planing over frond-forests;
But in its place – there!
Up rears the Thunderer,
It's mouth flared like a fledgling's.
It is ready to gulp down the world;
It is ready to swallow the sky.