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He profits from extended toes,
As o’er the lily pads he goes.
His call is just a quiet screech,
Although he’s not inclined to preach.
He’s tiny and he has no beard,
This lily trotter’s really weird.
He wears a robe – a feathered suit,
He’s light of foot, this little coot.
A miracle he doesn’t sink,
And end up drowning in the drink.
He seems so happy, not a care,
But then he has no cross to bear.

Copyright © Dennis N. O’Brien, 2011

Image from Wikipedia