Author Mary Eleanor Wilkins Freeman The ostrich is a silly bird, With scarcely any mind. He often runs so very fast, He leaves himself behind. And when he gets there has to stand And hang about till night, Without a blessed thing to do Until he comes in sight. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments