One cries, “Come, long-legs, come to me!”
The stork looks round quite loftily,
And straightway to the youngsters striding,
He asks them, “Do ye feel like riding?”
The boy then answers, “I would try it,
So on thy back pray let me sit!
On earth ’tis lovely, none deny it,
But be not ugly—gently flit!”
And up on snowy plumage springing,
A shower of down around him flinging,