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Waldrapp Ibis

Am I facing my midlife crisis?
I've just been likened to a waldrapp ibis!
What on earth could be more absurd
Than to link me with with this revolting bird?
Look at its face, that gormless expression
Surely I don't give that sort of impression.
Look at its beak, like a big drooping schnozz!
Am I a shadow of what I once was?

Once I was young, I was handsome and perky
But now it appears that I look like a turkey.
Once I was famed for my style, grace and culture,
Never compared to a mange-ridden vulture.
I'd like to make out that I just couldn't care less,
But if I'm accused of being wrinkled and hairless
I'm not going to take it. My feathers are ruffled
And my protestations on this won't be muffled.

And so I've decided, I'm changing my bird.
About this sad ibis I'll not hear a word.
No longer associate me with a fowl,
From now on I'll be a magnificent owl.
A sleek silent hunter with razor sharp sight,
Beau of the forest, king of the night.
And then I will get my deserved respect,
Not goaded, derided or even hen pecked.

Or maybe I'll be a majestical swan,
Noble and elegant, fabled in song.
Or even an eagle that soars upon high,
A deadly assassin that strikes from the sky.
In fact, ANY bird would be better than this,
That rank whore-son rodent, the waldrapp ibis.
A sparrow, a robin, I won't mind a bit,
Though perhaps not a duck or a thrush or a tit.

Mike Stools (b. 1962)