Sometimes I smile, and have to laugh,
When contemplating the giraffe.
A giant, peaceful herbivore,
Polite, he's disinclined to roar,
(Though he might give out a bellow
If he meets a nasty fellow).
He likes Acacia leaves to munch,
And cranes his neck to reach a bunch.
(Higher leaves are best, the upper,
Which he chomps on for his supper;
His gourmet taste for leaves is fine,
But he forgoes the glass of wine.)
No animal is quite as tall,
In height, he stands above them all.
The mild giraffe is in first place,
With stilts required, to see his face.
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