We're in the Giraffe Hotel.
We hear the breakfast bell –
a handful of feed;
our daily good deed −
it's suiting us awfully well.
My husband says, 'What's the smell?
It's making me feel unwell.
The room whiffs of poop,
Giraffe's done a whoop.'
We're wondering where it fell.
Giraffe's looking into our eyes.
The lashes – oh, what a surprise!
Soft stares as it nibbles,
bad breath, and it dribbles −
we couldn't get over the size.
It's ten out of ten with a plus,
we see why they make all the fuss.
Giraffes are the draw −
who wouldn't want more?
The only vacation for us!
