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Best Flamingo Poems | Poetry

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The Best Flamingo Poems

Details | Flamingo Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Take Me Somewhere Exotic

The pungence of heartbreak swelters
in the tangled dreadlocks of love-lies-bleeding
Take me somewhere exotic
to breathe not the foul aroma
of disappointment and despair
Show me fields laced with frangipani and orchids
in colors sweet and light as daydreams
Find me seafoam fields poppied
with pomegranate and honey 
opium of jasmine lilting on a leeward drowse
delicious sift of sand drifting
warm and soft between my toes
as coral breezes court flamingo scapes
with pina colada suns
and I drift in and out of hibiscus euphoria
Let a mist of cockatoos flutter
in lapis skies puffed with fat feather clouds
parrots and toucans preening
like a rainbow shimmer
Tingle my pineapple senses
through the afterglow of mango afternoons 
Create visions of paradise
in the cerulean of hyacinth
and never bring me back


Copyright © Dale Gregory Cozart | Year Posted 2017

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Magic Carpet Ride

Twisting and turning on tides of laughter,
we rise and roll with wild abandon.
Through sparkling sheens of summer rain,
those gentle gems of glistening, gleaming drops,
we fly freely upon this flamingo feathered carpet.
Happily we ride along the heights of heaven,
Gazing deep into galaxies that glow far beyond.
Saturn's seductive rings slowly pull us forward,
When suddenly we drop, diving low, dipping back into
the darling glow of our moon.
Then sweeping past the stars, smiling with delight,
we sail off in the distance, shouting our goodnight.
Now all the sights that we've seen shall swim within our dreams.
Come take my hand as I take yours and we'll fly off toward tomorrow.

Tanya Harrington   ©   07-30-2012
Inviting ~  Poet~Destroyer, Let's ride!         

For Skat's Magic Carpet Ride Contest

Copyright © Tanya Harrington | Year Posted 2012

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Clipped Crops and Croquet Mallets

I miss so many things: the old pear tree, which once lived by the walk and the bees inside. The bees almost never stung, but made the most delightful buzz. The smell of the pear blossoms and the fruit as it rotted on the ground. I even miss the colonies of ants, which swarmed. You see, I chopped it down. Well, the bees stung my ex-husband, or, he was scared of the bees, or some such thing. The bees like the cat, knew more about the true core of the man than I did. Once the cat shat on his side of the bed, and pulled the sheet over it. Even then, I didn’t really hear nature’s call. I miss the rose bushes, which I tore out because of the June bugs. “Mustn’t have untidy, ugly, things around me,” fool that I was, and continue to be. I have almost eradicated the wild violets. Soon, even I will be gone. “Who will remember all that sweetness? Oh, the pear crisp with crumbled cinnamon crust on a Fall day, all gone.”

a mown lawn
stretches to the horizon –
a hedge clipper whir

The Rose Queen was a lesser villain than I. She was imaginary and I am real, or so I believe. “If you’d lived with Alice would you have played croquet with a flamingo club?” 

First Published in Contemporary haibun January 2014

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

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howl beyond reason

“Being crazy isn't enough.” ? Dr. Seuss

Jabberwocky's growl
Jabberwocky howl
howl at little girls
howl at the moon
moon with your pants down
moon over Manhattan
Manhattan nights
Manhattan Knights
Knights in White Satin
Knights with Bat ears
ears of a donkey
ears of a rabbit
rabbit across the street
Rabbit Run
run for your life
run the stocking
stocking up
stocking legs
legs on a flamingo
legs under the table
table talk
table manners
"manners" said Alice?
"manners" said the Queen
Queen of Hearts
Queen of the May
May I
may you
you may
you can
can can
can do
do what?
do who?
who said that?
who yoo-hooed
yoo-hoed a yodel
yoo-hooed on cue
cue up the table
cue ones and two's
two's are for pairs
two's for tea
tea totalers
tea bags
bags for a season
bags for a reason
reason or not
reason be damned

Debbie Guzzi

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

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Weird Carolyn

Weird Carolyn

The other cheerleaders didn’t like football
Basketball was much easier to follow
But I got bored watching them dribble the ball
My response was hard for others to swallow

Growing up I didn’t have too many toys
So I had to find my own entertainment
I became a master of animal noise
When I “croaked” on the bleachers strange looks were sent

My frog impersonations left them aghast
When I did my seagull, the team stopped playing
They stared at me oddly as though I’d passed gas
They couldn’t relate to talents displaying

This was the first thing that led to my nickname
But once in class I was asked to give a speech
The teacher was writing, so bold I became
Her attention I was trying to beseech

Being a contortionist since childhood days
Locked one leg and arm, looked like a flamingo
I perched on one foot for each eloquent phrase
The teacher looked up and called me a weirdo

The class agreed and “weird Carolyn” was born
Frequently called upon to put on a show
Much laughter I bestowed, accolades adorned
Never understood why I didn’t have a beau

*Entry for Francine’s “Tell us something we didn’t know” contest.  Okay, the secret's 
out and I'm ready for my punishment.  At high school reunions I'm still called upon to 

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011

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Aurora borealis

Silent sighs hide inside breath clouds exhaled into sentimental air as brisk winds summon twilight, tinting innocent horizons. Oxygen dances with atmospheric particles creating a plethora of chemical reactions. Enchantment illuminates in flashes of colourful magnificence. Celeste sapphire hints indulge through violet shades of lavender hues. Streaks of scarlet crimson petals flow among coral flamingo shades as golden streaks swim through emerald crystallised skies, seeking sanctuary within the realms of infatuated devotion. and that was the first time I saw her eyes her perfect gift to the world. Silent One 26 October 2017 Simple musing

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2017

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Sailing on the sweet river Shannon.
Ireland's river ways central vein.
Sleeping soundly on a river barge.
Listening to the pit patting rain.

Stopping engine to eat each evening 
Gazing at a flamingo pink sky.
Making many friends in local pubs.
Until it is time to say goodbye.

Rising slowly when at every lock.
Chatting happily with other folk.
Out on their daily riverside walk.
Who like to stop for a little talk.

Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2016

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The Wild Kingdom

Brown Bear
King Snake
X-ray Fish

Copyright © Sienna Muniz | Year Posted 2010

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Purple leather turtles
Smoking hippy rats
Gastric glands
Secrete Orange Juices
Leave my stomach
Swim in land.
Cauliflower hairy clouds
Pouring purple rain,
Heavy inches  
 Salt dry water
Sad the clown 
Drowns again.
Mushroom confusion
Stop long haired ants,
Angry bitten leaves curse
Paparazzi popping plants.
Slow feline drivers
Married canine sky divers,
Jump outside
Hot left shoe.
Cell phone starts ringing
Soprano liver singing
Strange writings
Because of you.
Hush rush
Drink liquid Ink
Flamingo thoughts
Dream is pink,
One pill
Black rainbows will
To purposely get lost.

Copyright © Jaime Ferreyros | Year Posted 2007

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- Is Not Hard To Love You -

Wrought in silver confession of faith and love

Completely engulfed in romantic flames

No one knows that your lips understand what it means

Higher than the soul ~ a dream within a dream

The blessed birds sing about freedom and joy

A one - way ticket with the train of love

Pink flamingo in fiery dance

Two hearts full of strength and hope

 ... Love 






  Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
  Copyright © All Rights Reserved

Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2016

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Pink Paradigm

so, the chicken
 came first
with an inventive burst

no wonder it can't happen backwards
the law of physics would surrender

the concept as beautiful as new weather
and fluffy tufted  pink flamingo feathers

time and space travels only forward
no reason though, not to travel backwards

yet, God gives us a pink paradise
like pink roses he is so concise!

Pinks calm caring hues
a look on world views

Copyright © Susan Mills | Year Posted 2010

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Three Pink Flamingos Go On Holiday - Pt1

Once upon a time as all good stories start
Lived three pink flamingos who never were apart

Flo she's the little one, who likes to tease the others
They're Joe, and Moe, her big strong older brothers

They thought it would be nice to take a holiday
So each pink flamingo hired a car to go away

Now Flo hired a mini 'cos minis are so cute
and set off on her way with a suitcase in the boot

So to find the seaside she headed off as speed
but the road had a troll on, with whom she had to plead

"Mr Troll Mr Troll, please leave me to my trip
Just step off the road, and away I will zip."

"Young flamingo" said the troll "your car look rather tasty
I'll eat it for a morning snack", Flo's face went quite pasty

"But Mr Troll I need my car, to go on holiday
My brothers both have bigger cars and they are on the way"

"Go on your trip then, I hear your puny plea
Your mini is too small to fill a giant troll like me"

At the thought of bigger cars the troll he salivated
then lay down in the road where impatiently he waited

Joe Hired a sports car to zoom off to the sea
but stayed at home a little while to drink his cup of tea

At last he set off, to catch up with his sis'
Speeding down the highway, he saw something was amiss

A giant troll lay in the road, his mouth open wide
Hoping that the next car, would simply drive inside

"Mr Troll Mr Troll, I see you hiding there
Did you think I would drive in, without the slightest care"

The troll stood up, at last a car to eat
But Joe was too fast and zoomed between his feet

Joe sped along the road and soon caught up with Flo
They talked about the troll and worried for big Moe


Copyright © Nick Bagnall | Year Posted 2011

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Flamingo a-go-go

wings Para Para                                                                                                                                                                        pink fans fly into the sun                                                                                                                                                                  the lawn is silent

Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014

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Romany Gypsy

With flashing eyes she did enthral
as to the beat of drums she danced
a wild flamingo with clacking castanets
her wide hooped skirt was all a-swirl

Golden earrings sparkling and flashing
heels looking impossibly high as she twirls
her eyes flashing enticing messages 
as the men flock to her a mocking laugh

Siren of the senses as well she knows
she taunts and teases as she grabs hold
only to push her admirer head over heels
leaving him stunned and dazed in the dirt

In a puff of smoke she vanishes from view
long rolls of drums call to her to come back
the men look in vain for her return
a soft voice enticingly calls from the shadows

Singing of long journeys to far away exotic places
of caravan wheels swishing and of horses gavotting
of smokey camp fires bristling with full cauldrons
no clue to what lies within just enticing smells

She tells of lovers she has known in distant past
entreating the men, who try their luck to no avail
she sits brushing her long raven black hair of curls
and the sparks fly giving her an ethereal appearance

The fires die low and still she has not yet chosen
it seems she is waiting for someone not now here
flashes of lightening fork across the sullen skies
and the skies open in deluges of rain and thunder

As her admirers scatter seeking shelter she laughs
spinning round and round hair flying out scattering
droplets that glisten and sparkle in pale light
at last she crumbles done to the sodden ground 

A mighty flash of lightening rends the sky in half
highlighting a jet black horse rearing up high
she runs forward laughing he is here, he has come
her gypsy king, he swings her up before him and turns

As the summer storm fades the last fork shows
the two lovers high-lit on the rolling hill
then gone, gone to their secret place of tryst
she leaves lingering memories in men's minds of what might have been

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014

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The Flamenco

 Emotional tension fills the air...
 Lights and laughter everywhere

 A fiesta audience waits eagerly for a night of passion.

 The dance of Spain and a sensual dancer
 The Andalusian Gypsy dancer
 El baile flamenco tonight…Ole!

 The guitarist enters…masterfully
 Displaying his unique musical talent.
 His music controls the dance

 Finally, bailaoras, the great Camille, enters
 More than beautiful, she exudes sexuality
 Dramatically, her aura intrigues and mystifies

 The Flamenco, some say, is animalistic
 Elegant movements of the flamingo birds
 So, much like the dancer's stance…

 Camille points her gold slipper like a prima ballerina
 Music begins--- she does not move…poised as a statue
 The audience sits on the edges of their seats.

 Motionless, no expression in the start
 When she feels the rhythm, she responds
 Camille claps loudly, steadily

 As her emotions build, she begins…
 Her back, arched and dignified
 Arms elegant and poised

 The flamenco begins torridly
 Gracefully but fiercely, Camille stomps---
 Golden shoes with their percussion sounds

 Bedazzling her admirers,
 No one knows where the dance will go…
 That is part of the beauty of the flamenco

 Her passionate moves romance or comfort her admirers
 Thus, the greatest joy of flamenco dancing
 Climatically building as a heroine in a play 

 Camille has no equal…
 Astutely, the castanets click in her hands…
 The difficulty of the dance emerges…

 Hands and feet working not in synchronicity
 But against each other
 Her mother taught her well…

 The dancer is the accompanist, moving her body
 To the flying fingers of the guitarist.
 Ultimately, the music ebbs away 

 Camile picks up her fan and looks at the guitarist 
 Both dancer and musician are spent...
 Audience stands up, cheering and clapping.

 This is the spice of life in Spain!


Copyright © Carol Davis | Year Posted 2015

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tropical topical

Taming a tropical topical tree? Taking a trunk? Telling a tailor? Traversing a tale? Many ideas. Much like the ideological dramas of a beach front. Wavelength of winds. Movements if the tides. Coconuts can jump very high if wearing leotards but leotards are prohibited at various times during the year. It is quite impossible to count the exotic blooms that line up. Waiting wanting wishing. And the deity of a cactus can chant to tunes arriving from the sand piles. Dust dog. Digging. Whoosh warming wands. And a scent of a papaya in a fridge. Now that is all rather entertaining and remarkable for the long tailed fish whose darts prove to the leopard print turtle that it is very likely that a radiant radius forms from a watery weaving display. But jousting with a pineapple is not as fantastic as utilising a giant bee bush. Large leaves linking lanterns. And the aardvark grin. Heat from a ruin is a robed friend. Fiends are denied access by the calling cards. And the turban of souls spoke. Heed. Have. Heavens. Heaping. A morning mist is neither not a mood or a moon. And why buffalo wings and not pork wings? Why not pork wings? Operatic oink in a tropically scented garden. Seated. Or flying around and around. Then returning and eating apple pie. Stanza eighty nine is akin to a fine wine. A fabulous line. But a fabled monkey can be equalled to a nine foot serpent rising slowly from a wall. A mosaic deity. A wisdom. A pocket of chairs. Spin then. Aromatic cutlet smiling. Cover in liquids squirted from the appropriate discussion. And a rampant distortion of a small amount of energy. Save not a slug. Stamp not on a boating shrew. And spring over the jungle fauna with leaps of over forty two miles an hour. Sixty eight minutes of marvellous encounters. With unheard of animals,trees, and landscapes. The maka maka people are custodians of a channel and guardians of the tall blue beings. Shrouded in a misted canopy. High up. In caverns. Pictorial cues and evidence. Shrouds. Circuses are not allowed. Red read riots. And a dome cake arriving. Haha haha and a tall man waving. Haha and a juice dancing with a cloth. Haha beetle eyes in a pattern sewing blankets for the spotted frogs. Swirling stag staged. Melon elocution. And a little girl with a dramatic performance of a single page. Documentations in a dog bowl. Tropical topical trailers talking travelling trips. The radius of a forest floor is measured by twigs. And so the planet can be seen from a clearing. Oh good. Washing a flamingo is best done by a lake. And a frightened patterned peacock prancing can be placated by song, dance and rhythm. Such is the blossoming bloom of an official secrets act. 19 52. And an oceanographic octagonal office does not laugh or wave. It is to be said that mysterious snails of over two hundred feet in diameter can rise to meet the criteria of a successful businessman who has no meaning. And so the leaping ornate orchids can smile in appreciation. Swamps are really not that ideal for a morning swim. Haha goon gong. Xxxx beastiology. ANZ X.

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016

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CRAYONS- the big box


yellow lemon
green apple
red raspberry
orange orange


grey goose
pink flamingo
red robin
raven raven


gold fish
blue whale
red snapper
salmon salmon


black panther
brown bear
Redd Foxx
sable sable


copper head
black mamba
red  racer
snake skin


black man
white man
red skin


zebra stripes
leopard spots
diamond back
rainbow trout


Copyright © Warner Baxter | Year Posted 2014

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Immortal Flame

Slay me September sun Hot penetrating star Wanton repossession I lust Sol-mate Kindle Kiss me afire Spread me bathed blushing surge Flare flies flamingo dawning sky Birth-day Contest: Late Summer Standard Sponsor: Brian Strand Susan Ashley Re-edit from prose: 6/30/17 revised: 8/9/17 *'Smile of the Sunrise' - Painting by Marie Green*

Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2017

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Country Christmas

“Country Christmas Carol”      ---  dedicated to my family

 by  Miriam  McCue (creator of flamingo art, & far.)

We love to sing Christmas songs,
My Grandson Bubba and I.
And when we sing Country Christmas.
We almost make the angels cry.

A Merry Country Christmas
To all those great Country Folk,
And even to the City Slickers,
Who also love to drink and smoke.

We’ll take a drink for Bubba, Aunt Mike and Cousin Jim, 
And hope that this Christmas,
They’ll say a prayer and sing a hymn.

Gather round the still, 
Country People all.
 And hold up Uncle Bill
So the old coot doesn’t fall. 

A Merry Country Christmas, 
One full of country joy.
Little Willie wanted a 12 gauge,
But all he got was a toy.

Copyright © Miriam McCue | Year Posted 2009

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My Pink Angels

My Pink Angel's

Long reed leg's sun dance;
exotic pink angel's stance,
sweet pink flamingo.

Copyright © Marie Harrison | Year Posted 2010

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A Trip to the Zoo

People come to stare at animals there.
With no time to spare, they rush everywhere.
Moms and babies share as she gives them care.
Elephants declare their presence with flare.
Critters with long hair jump to trees midair.
Dangers anywhere, zoo signs say, “Beware.”
Alligators pair; together ensnare.
Flamingo welfare wades near unaware.
Black ravens declare their cries for warfare.
Orangutan’s flair all pose debonair.  
Snakes slither and scare; many of them rare.
Giraffe heads in air stretched eating a pear. 
Cutest baby bear stayed at zoo’s day-care.
Dark starts aftercare; search for disrepair.
Hunger fills the air; beast cries everywhere. 
Zoo keepers’ aware help creatures forbear.
A mare with a scare had a wound repair.
Grounded in despair once freedom’s coheir.
Bald Eagle’s wing tear made life so unfair.
When problems ensnare, zookeepers say prayer.
Everyone is there beneath the sun’s glare.
Bound to a wheelchair, broke or billionaire.
People come to share; animals forebear.


Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2017

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Fathom me

I know there will be sleeping 
enough in the grave
Yet when i fast, i got hungry and 
sometimes rave
Knowing fully well that the fast is 
not going to last. 
I see the cloud becoming thick, 
dark and brownish 
It rains, i expect the pains to 
I have power, but i don't have 
I couldn't stay an hour in the 
mansion, I like it here in the tent.
It taste like sweet in my mouth 
when i ate the mango
But in my stomach it stood on 
one leg like flamingo
The flowers are beautiful as 
confirmed by the eyes
But who deserves the most 
credit? Is it the flowers, for being 
beautiful or the eyes for seeing it 
beauty lie.
Before you see my trouble
Try and see my struggle

Copyright © Innocent Raphael | Year Posted 2012

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The Tea Party

A game of musical chairs has just begun in earnest. A pot and kettle band arrives 
through the dining rooms’ French doors following the Valentine Queen. A putrid pink 
flamingo with a croquet ball stuck in its beak settles it’s derrière onto a fine caramel 
leather seat. His humor is short lived. A snort echoes from each of the six bullhorns 
forming his head. “Got him that time, you really did, Matilda!” laughed Lucky, the 
horn-backed chair. A single, rose-pink, button pops off Matilda’s back and lands in 
the hatless brigands’ teapot, just as he is placing a silver tea ball inside. “Ou a le 
petite fille?” Matilda groans. Around the far end of the table chasing a set of 
disembodied eyes with a cat tail, a girl child runs screeching. “She looks familiar, 
don’t she?” Windy whistles beneath the lacy tablecloth, tickling Mattie’s fancy. “Her 
name ain’t Louise,” as with a plop, a brigand crushes Laddie’s rushes. The windsor 
replies. “Geeeeeeeeez Louise!” the ladder-back mutters, between its back straps. A 
top hat flies through the air and landed on the top knob of the lanky ladder backed 
chair. The child righted herself, wiping her nose on the errant apron string. She lisps 
through the spider web pattern of her seat. “Awww now what a shame,” Mary 
whispers to Tex. The loose tails of her apron caught beneath Mary’s rocker and the 
child tumbled face forward into a full cup of Assam tea.  A girl child resplendent in 
golden locks and white pinafore tore into the room planting herself on the caned 
ladies rocker Mary. “Mon Dieu” She moans. “Ya’ll see that nasty monster splatter 
chocolate icing on my skirt?” A knob kneed, potbellied prig, holding a cupcake, 
shoves his way onto Matilda, the little ladies slipper chair. Tex the horned back chair 
at the tables girdle chortles. “Do you know who’s been invited to this soiree?” The 
rabbit topples over backward, his watch bashing his delicate pink nose. Windy 
sneezes.“Aahhh chhhooo!” Tufts of fanny fur tickled between his spokes. 
“Good golly Miss Molly,” shrieks Windy the windsor chair at the far end of the table,
 as a wild-eyed, white rabbit with a gold watch plunked into his well-worn seat.

*Refer to "The Chairs Have it"
This poem can be read from the backwards too ;)

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

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Flamingo Migration The Leader

Come on chaps its time to go
We must leave now, before the snow.
I know the way, I know the path
The route is South to a great lake bath.

You’re my pal, so you’re first right.
Help me guide them on this long flight.
You’re first left, cause you fly so strong
Make sure our path is never wrong.

When I count to three, we’re on our way
The journey’s long, no time to play.
At the count of one, start to run
The take off’s hard, it’s not fun.

Flap your wings at the count of two
Not only me, but all of you.
At the count of three, lift your feet and soar.
Do it wrong and you’ll hit the floor.

Line up quickly in a V-formation
Maintain your distance, keep your station.
Then circle once and follow me
We’re heading South for a mating spree

Copyright © Patrick Maitland | Year Posted 2012

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The Flamingo

Have you ever seen a flamingos legs
And wonder about the angle
What appears to be his knee
Is actually his ankle

Copyright © Dawn Drickman | Year Posted 2005