In the course of preparing my recent interview of Deirdre Dodo, I came across the following wonderful poem by Hilaire Belloc, to which I’ve taken the liberty of adding my own third verse:
The Dodo used to walk around,
And take the sun and air.
The sun yet warms his native ground—
The Dodo is not there!
The voice which used to squawk and squeak
Is now forever dumb—
Yet may you see his bones and beak
All in the Mu-se-um.
He died away not long ago
With very little fuss
The problem was he tasted so