And, before the poor elephant even could speak, That eagle flew off with the flower in his beak. All that late afternoon and far into the night That black-bottomed bird flapped his wings in fast flight, While Horton chased after, with groans, over stones That tattered his toenails and battered his bones, And begged, “Please don’t harm all my little folks, who Have as much right to live as us bigger folks do!” But far, far beyond him, that eagle kept flapping And over his shoulder called back, “Quit your yapping. I’ll fly the night through. I’m a bird. I don’t mind it. And I’ll hide this, tomorrow, where you’ll never find it!”