The Enigma

There is naught I could compare thee with, no match in mind, creature of foreign land. Your rhythmic stride, grace comparative, eccentricity, tree-tops you command. With lashes long, soft, liquid eyes, light brown, sky-scraper tall, you view your sun-baked earth. Silhouette odd against the sky, sundown, Oh, nature’s tallest giant, spotted girth. An evolutionary enigma, precariously you walk in your space, not a spot out of place or a stigma, the definition of long-legged grace. May your numbers never be cut in half. The Earth will cry if we lose the giraffe.