There once was a bird
who wanted to be
any bird
but the one
that he was:
an ostrich named Stanley.
Sometimes he’d act like
the macaw
(you’d guffaw)
or a chick
(it was sick)
bird of prey
(yech…no way!)
Even more than those acts
that Stan couldn’t master
other tries were plain bad,
no worse,
a disaster:
His strut recalled peacocks
less than it did newts,
his night hunting efforts
made every owl hoot.
And when he carried on
like some bird he wasn’t
the Small Stan inside him ‘tsked,
“Big Stan you mustn’t.
“You’re an ostrich,
Be proud if your head’s in the ground!
Don’t clown cluck around
like The Birdbrain of Town!”
Some messages
the first time
are loud and clear,
while others
don’t arrive
for some reason
for years …
So it was one day it hit Stan
And he could see,
“What I really know how to be best
is me.
Not them
or they
or he
or she.
The feathers of others don’t fit on my frame
And trying to force them has made me look lame.”
So Stan said to himself,
“Let’s forever agree
For you to be you
And me to be me.”
From then till forever
Stanley didn’t mince,
Nor did that old ostrich
once lack confidence.
