Can you hold him to the furrow with a harness?
Will he till the valleys behind you?
Will you rely on him for his great strength?
Will you leave your heavy work to him?
Can you trust him to bring in your grain and gather it to your threshing floor?

The wings of the ostrich flap joyfully, but they cannot compare with the pinions and feathers of the stork.
She lays her eggs on the ground and lets them warm in the sand, unmindful that a foot may crush them, that some wild animal may trample them.
She treats her young harshly, as if they were not hers; she cares not that her labor was in vain, for God did not endow her with wisdom or give her a share of good sense.
Yet when she spreads her feathers to run, she laughs at horse and rider.

Do you give the horse his strength or clothe his neck with a flowing mane.
Do you make him leap like a locust, striking terror with his proud snorting?
He paws fiercly rejoicing in his strength, and charges into the fray.
He laughs at fear, afraid of nothing; he does not shy away from the sword.
The quiver rattles against his side, along with the flashing spear and lance.
In frenzied excitement he eats up the ground; he cannot stand still when the trumpet sounds.
At the blast of the trumpet he snorts, 'Aha!'
He catches the scent of battle from afar, the shout of commanders and the battle cry.

Does the hawk take flight by your wisdom and spread his wings toward the south?
Does the eagle soar at your command and build his nest on high?
He dwells on a cliff and stays there at night; a rocky crag is his stronghold.
From there he seeks out his food; his eyes detect it from afar.
His young ones feast on blood, and where the slain are, there is he.
quit
done
how the crap do i finish this stupid thing
THE POEMS OVER
MORE
more
Im gonna cry, oh here we go!

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Phaestian, in the year 248 AF.