Intellectual

What sort of giraffe does he think he is,
Cropping off nuts and dates far overhead?
Nibbling them loftily, nose in the trees,
Teeth clipping haughtily well bred?

What ants in the dirt does he take us for,
Myriad, average, sightless or dead?
Disdaining queries that scurry or soar,
He drops shells and stones when the meanings have fled.
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