Turkesaur


Without the lowly chicken,
mankind would not get far.
If you don't eat the eggs,
you can pickle them in a jar.

Chicken meat is tender,
of unoffending taste.
When a plate is full of chicken,
nothing goes to waste.

The chicken's mighty cousin,
a wild and wary bird.
First vexed the Pilgrim's blunderbuss,
until the natives heard.

Showed those weary travelers,
how to catch the beast.
Roast it to perfection,
and gather up a feast.

Turkeys like to herd,
like their ancestors did.
They'd rather run than and fly,
but fly after they hid.

For there were monsters out there,
ready to gobble little Turkesaurs up.
No self-respecting Turkesaur,
wanted to be a Lasso Raptor's sup.

And so they developed hair for wings,
to make a flying escape.
Turkesaurs also dove into burrows,
to out reach the long claw's rake.

When the meteor came,
those that flew were flame.
Those that dove were game,
to live and reign.

Among the world of beautiful birds,
one of the ugliest by far.
That doesn't taste like chicken,
but tastes like dinosaur.

Turkesaur

Image Courtesy

National Geographic

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Copyright 2009 © Ronald W. Hull

11/14/09