"The wings of the ostrich flap joyfully, but they cannot compare with the pinions and feathers of the stork.1
She lays her eggs on the ground and lets them warm in the sand,
unmindful that a foot may crush them, that some wild animal may trample them.2
She treats her young harshly,3 as if they were not hers; she cares not that her labor was in vain,
for God did not endow her with wisdom or give her a share of good sense.4
Yet when she spreads her feathers to run, she laughs5 at horse and rider.
"Do you give the horse his strength6 or clothe his neck with a flowing mane?
Do you make him leap like a locust,7 striking terror8 with his proud snorting?9
He paws fiercely, rejoicing in his strength,10 and charges into the fray.11
He laughs12 at fear, afraid of nothing; he does not shy away from the sword.
The quiver13 rattles against his side, along with the flashing spear14 and lance.