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. 

The Mogrin

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