The Hippo and the Bird.
The hippo’s delight was far out of sight,
As she lay in an innocent pose.
Delighted by water
This pachyderm’s daughter,
Displayed just the end of her nose.
A bird of thin kind stood upon her behind,
And rid her of various nits.
He knew that his host
Harboured the most,
Down near the bit where she sits.
After a while, of dining in style,
He perceived that his legs had got shorter
For the wet stuff had rose
Beyond his long toes,
And his beakful of nits full of water.
He looked at the sky, with one beady eye,
And considered it likely that rain
Was the cause of the wet
That had caused him to get
His feathers to go down the drain.
The brain of a bird, as often is heard,
Is not known for it’s skill in debate,
Sometimes I think
As it stops for a drink,
How on earth can it find it’s own mate!
The bird, now rinsed, is completely convinced
That the water is rapidly filling.
It thinks of a plan,
As only birds can,
To save it from this kind of chilling.
It will call on it’s host, to summons it’s most
To swim upwards as fast as it’s able.
Then once at the top,
Off he quickly would hop
And find himself something more stable.
This poor, wretched bird, if only he’d heard
That the nits and the hippo that’s got ‘em,
When the sunshine is hot,
As likely as not,
They’ll sink, for hours, to the bottom.
©Ciderman
