Poetry is the Cinderella of the children's book field. Once she was a sooty scullery maid while proud stepsisters Science and Fiction held forth. Then along came Prince Federal-Funds-for-Language-Arts-Programs and lo! the maid turned into a modish princess. And so on to the ball, as books of verse now head publishers' lists and appear each new season in resplendent jackets and bindings.

Only one detail spoils this glowing scene: many of the volumes issued so readily don't deserve the permanency of print. There seems to be a peculiar equation operating: because children are only half as big as grownups, writing verses for them should be only half as hard as writing for adults. All the poet has to do to get into the proper framework is crouch down and think small. This steady bending over, however, leads to cramped muscles and tired ideas.

Ogden Nash is a champion wit and social commentator at the upper level, but he becomes condescending in his new narrative poem for the little ones. The Cruise of the Aardvark leans heavily on the worn theme that it's best for every creature to be himself after all. The couplets seem padded (“The captain is standing at the helm / His particular personal private realm”), the rhymes are occasionally blurred, and only rarely do we get the playful persnickety or the outrageously Procrustean we expect from the master.