Among a flock of geese (we call a gaggle),
A few strut out ahead while others straggle.
They’re nowhere near so regal as the eagle
Nor fly so blithely as a soaring sea gull.
To spy them in the sky will make you giggle
Until they shrink into a distant squiggle,
Which you may see while skiing to a mogul
On top of which you perch and lurch and ogle.
They won’t return, not though you blow your bugle,
Unless you’re on the Net and search with Google.
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