The Ostrich is an awkward bird,
With long legs verging on absurd;
The silly bird's not fit to fly,
Not one is ever in the sky.
But run she can, a thing of wonder,
When she sprints, it sounds like thunder.
She pecks and pokes for worms and slugs,
Grub that at her heartstrings tugs,
But she's still a tasty dinner,
If Lioness wants fowl in her.