H;

HIPPOPOTAMUS
(Hippopotamus amphibius)
As I observe a herd of hippopotami
I see much merit in that they cannot fly.
For to have such a flock wheeling about
Would create a moan; indeed, a great shout!
From those madly dashing around underneath,
Dodging certain properties they might bequeath!
We know, aerodynamically, they’re not sound
To lift up in the air, to get off the ground.
And it’s just as well that this is so
For it is difficult to credit a flying hippo!
Great problems they would create in the Congo and Zaire,
For flight traffic controllers, as they skimmed through the air.
Landings would also create such a fuss,
With them each the size of an omnibus.
So it is better, much better by far,
That they stay on the ground in Africa,
Each just being a river-cow or bull,
And munching river grass and weed until full.
And when they are full, yes, full and replete,
They can subside under water to escape torrid heat,
Something that they could never achieve
If through fast flight their domain they could leave.
And so it makes sense just how they’re made
To stand in the sun or rest in the shade.
But never, no never to float through the air
In unnatural element; no they shouldn’t dare!
It remains now just to finish this thought,
That we each have our harbour, each our own port.
And from there we should not even want to stray
To zones we are not made for, out in ‘the bay.’