The Story of an Ostrich

The Story of an Ostrich. A robust old ostrich, with head little bigger Than that of some creatures of far frailer figure, With two legs complete, and a speed very fleet, Once caught a short peep at his feet, in the street. So far from his head did they seem to be located, He failed to take note that upon each were notated Scales, warts and abrasions, nails, ossification, Which proved them a part of his own corporation. He noticed, however, wherever he went, They came along, too, and he asked what it meant? Though he walked through the town, or he stalked o'er the heath He observed they remained, always, right underneath. He thrust out his bust and inside he just cussed, When they strode along and kept kicking up dust; But in vain did he feign to abstain from disdain, As he dined with the twain in the wind and the rain; Copyrighted by the Hand Print Book Folk, Boston, Mass.

Or stared around therein, while wearing a bear-grin, Evincing an evident, ill-concealed chagrin. So very ungainly were they, like a tumor, The ostrich, at last, got in very bad humor; And, failing to recognise them as his own, Made a peck with his beak that went clear to the bone, Which gave all his nerves such a terrible thrill, He quick pecked another hard peck with his bill; With each peck a quiver, his frame shook with shivers, As if his limp liver were pierced with slim slivers,— Till both his great feet with his heart's blood were red, Oozing out on the ground, as he'd painfully tread. It was strange that his feet, thus, he blindly maltreated, Debased his escheat and his comfort defeated! As a matter of fact, he never had noticed How he'd got around; and he'd not the remotest Idea that his own high position depended On two ugly feet that his good taste offended.