There once lived a spindly giraffe
it was made of some high-flying stuff
when its legs got arthritis
and his eyes blepharitis
he had lost all his reasons to laugh.
As he could neither stand up nor see
any leaves that he needed to be
he climbed up and remained
and no longer complained
to this day he still lives in that tree.
This giraffe was a she, not a he
as the story is told with some glee
you may ask how it grew
well, she had not a loo
and she truly was all up her tree.
yes lovely indeed...giraffes...genetically inclined to be tall...brilliant...stupendous...momentous Have you got any poems about swine?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Waiter, there is Maggie in my soup. Don't worry sir, it is made by Nestle. The Swiss Miss.