This story I heard from a Hare,
Who traded it for something rare,
(At least, that's what he said to me,
Though you know how rabbits can be.)
The story, which has scarce been told,
Talks of Wildebeest of Old,
And of a cyle that first started,
When the globe was still uncharted.
It begins...
Two Wildebeest; one old, one young,
Both sick of grass and smell of dung,
Went on a journey 'cross the plains,
To seek some fairer, better gains.
Said younger beest to older friend,
'Before our Wilde-journey's end,
We'll drink from waters pure and still,
We'll find a home; I know we will.'
Said older beest, 'I think you're right,
And there!' he said, 'Within my sight,
I see a shimmering, flowing stream,
We're here!' he said, so it did seem.
As they approached, they saw ahead,
Two Wildebeest, both thoroughbred,
They seemed to argue, from afar,
Then one did something quite bizarre.
He moved right to the river's edge,
And with a sudden, solemn pledge,
Said 'It's a Croc! It is, it's true!,
Just wait and I'll prove it to you!'
He stamped his foot and stepped on out,
And then, without a sound or shout,
(Or anything for them to hear,)
Seemed to simply disappear!
The youngest beest was well amazed,
The oldest (who seemed quite unphased,)
Shaking his head, approached the gnu,
Who made a lowing Wilde-moo.
The youngest watched, and saw his friend,
Talk to the beest, who met his end,
A moment later - he stepped out,
And disapeared without a doubt.
The youngest beest went to his double,
He saw some wood, said 'What's the trouble?,
That's just a log.' The stars aligned.
Two wildebeest came from behind.