The Mogrins
The Mogrins are such peculiar things
Flying around with their huge red wings
Darting here and racing there
Zooming all day through the misty air
Sometimes they stop in mid flight
And float quite gently like a kite
Then they gibber in a very odd way
And nobody quite knows quite what they say
Brodwig the Mogrin is the most famed of his kind
A terrible pilot but with a superior mind
Flying up high and diving below
But how to land will he ever know?
For when he tries to land he falls in a heap
As from the sky he tries to leap
In every attempt he ends up in the dirt
I am quite surprised he never gets hurt
Then he’s back on his feet with a smile and a sigh
Up into the air back up into the sky
Soaring once more in heavenly space
What a strange creature what an odd race.
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