In the middle of the water hole
Landed two to have a chat
And with every wild one watching
They talked of this and that
And this again and that some more
As politicians do
Soon they were asking for some votes
(And counting them times two)
There was the hardened elder
Who’d seen the way things work
Who cared for the minutia
Who the younger called a jerk
The younger had the grandest plan
His mind on bigger things
And though he wasn’t flying now
He spoke with outstretched wings
The crowd of oh so many types
Soon felt that they’d been swayed
Until the elder made a last remark
That he had purposely delayed
“You call me an old-timer
Say I’m bogged down by the heat
I don’t look up or look around
I just look at my feet
I care too much for the mundane
I don’t see your greater plan
That maybe I no longer fly
I assure you though, I can
But I remember that I too must land
So yes I do look down
And if I may suggest young gun
You need some solid ground
You’ve got the charm and walk and style
And I’d love to talk a while
But I landed on a fallen tree
And you’re on a crocodile!”
The younger lept and flew away
Called the elder, “Climb the ladder!
You may think it’s all below you
But son, the details matter!”