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“I can stand on one leg
longer than you.
I’ve noticed that you
always have to stand on two.
Look at me! Look at me!
I’m standing on one leg.
If you tried to do it,
you’d look like a wooden peg.”
Fern Flamingo boasted and
bragged to the others,
Taunting them about their
fathers and their mothers.
She stood on one leg as
the day passed on.
The others watched her
waste her time; all they did was yawn.
“Watch me, everyone. I
can to it better.
I can stand on one leg.
I’m a go-getter.”
The other flamingoes
walked away, not care about Fern.
They hoped that by
nightfall there’d be a lesson she would learn.
Fern fell asleep, by the
light of the stars.
She didn’t see Venus, or
Jupiter, or Mars.
When she woke up the next
day her leg was stiff as can be.
“Oh no! My leg is frozen
in place. Won’t someone come help me?”
Fern was so tired and her
leg was so sore.
“I can’t do this. I can’t
stand on one leg any more.”
She let out such a yawn
that her feathers started shaking.
Fern had no idea what a
ruckus she was making.
Before she could stop
herself, the flamingo had tipped over.
She landed in the water
near a pile of mud and clover.
Finally her leg bent; she
rubbed it up and down.
All the while she scowled
and wore an angry frown.
From that day on, Fern
was content just like the others.
She never said a thing
about their sisters and their brothers.
She stood on two legs and
dropped her bill into the water.
She’d learned to be nice to flamingoes and to otter. |
