He set off after nightfall,
To hunt a rare old bird.
A bird that very few have seen,
Of which everyone has heard.
Its beak is long and pointy.
It has whiskers on its cheeks.
He went to seek it nightly.
He kept it up for weeks.
He lurked in darkened forests.
He watched the moonlit sands.
He listened for it calling.
He was a patient man.
Sometimes he thought he saw it.
Into the gloom he'd stare.
But when he got much closer,
There was simply nothing there.
His search it neared obsession.
How long would he persist,
Before he came to realise,
That Kiwis don't exist.