I am an archaeopteryx. I’d really like to fly.
(At least, I am a fossil, and I imitated flight.)
I flap and say the first thing that’s inside my head. Oh hi.
Sometimes I say that left is best when I know that it’s right.
I’m rather like a pheasant, and I wing it, in a burst:
I flutter and I fumble, and I like to give a squawk.
I sound as if I know it all, but I’m pretty unrehearsed:
Sometimes when I aim at sense, it’s nonsense that I talk.
You might say that I’m casual or even rather glib,
But when I say I’m going up, I really mean I’m not –
It isn’t really lying, and it’s such a minor fib –
A bird like me is apt to talk a large amount of rot.
I am an archaeopteryx. I am in charge of youth.
A fossil like myself knows all a teacher doesn’t guess.
There’s ninety-seven ways to tell a whopper, that’s the truth,
But I say there is more, although I know it will be less.
God save this archaeopteryx, its feathers and its tail –
I cannot sail the skies, but I can rub along by trees.
I am the Minister of Education. What a gale!
I always mean the opposite, I really am a tease.