In the yard of a castle lived, among all kinds of poultry, a pink ibis.
He had been brought from Egypt by the son of the owner, who was a great traveler.
Initially, they had great respect for this noble stranger. As soon as the ibis spread its wings, pigeons cooed:
“Oh! it’s beautiful! He looks like peach blossom!“
Hens admired the elegant curve of his beak. Ducks, which are so low on his legs, looked longingly at the long legs of the ibis, which seemed painted in pink.
Flattered, the ibis walked up and down. He spoke to them of his homeland Egypt, Nile, ostriches, pyramids and Cairo minarets.
First they had listened to with respect; but gradually they found he always told the same thing.
The turkey was saying angrily:
“What dotard!“
Guinea fowl mocked his drunkard nose, and a duckling pushed the impertinence to ask him how the sticks that served as his legs had cost him the centimeter.
Then the poor pink ibis retired to a corner. And he stood on one stiff leg, dreaming of his country, Nile, pyramids and minarets.
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