Pam Ayres

  Clive the fearless birdman was convinced that he could fly.
At night he lay in bed and dreamed of soaring through the sky.
Of cruising through the clouds, of winging far out into space.
And he had a leather helmet and a beak stuck on his face.

Clive the fearless birdman had a wife who did not care
For his fly-by-night ambition of cavorting through the air.
With mocking and with ridicule, she did her best to kill it,
And cruelly filled his breakfast plate with cuttlefish and millet.

But in his little potting shed he'd built some mighty wings
Out of balsa-wood and sticky tape and plasticine and strings.
Up to his neck in feathers which had taken months to pluck
He laboured with his Evo-Stick, he fashioned and he stuck.

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