I drove past a construction site yesterday that was active with heavy equipment, and the first line of a poem flashed into my mind. “The dinosaurs are not all dead.” I remembered that this poem had personified a steam shovel, but I couldn’t remember the rest of the poem or the author.
Have to love Google. A couple of clicks later, and I was able to recapture the delight that I remember feeling when I first read this poem, and I can share it.
The dinosaurs are not all dead.
I saw one raise its iron head
To watch me walking down the road
Beyond our house today.
Its jaws were dripping with a load
Of earth and grass that it had cropped.
It must have heard me when I stopped,
Snorted white steam my way,
And stretched its long neck out to see,
And chewed and grinned quite amiably!