Being a gannet is not easy,
in this scary unshelled world,
you point your beak and peck just once,
then think yourself an awful dunce.
When from the confines of your juvenile ledge
hunger forces you to flee,
you jump out into the vast unseen, unknown,
falling at first, just like a stone.
A single feather first ruffles loose,
then stiffens to attention,
but you find no food even way up high,
and so you think, "I'll surely die!"
Down to yet another world you plunge
and dive into a watery grave,
where wings that fly no longer swish,
but fill you up with flying fish.
And the moral of this story is,
when your world is too small,
the only thing a bird or man can do,
is find a world that's right for you.