They're whopper hoppers, gangly kangaroos,
whose leaps and bounds bedeck the Aussie scape,
and sexy males line up in anxious queues.
They "do it" often (females wear no drape).
The young'uns, yelling "Yippee!" loll inside
a hammock slung across their mama's gut.
They take the jiggle-joggle rides in stride,
each joey jouncing on its little butt.
Adults with boxing skill may grace the rings
as far afield as New York's MSG,
but those that lack the luck that talent brings
may end their days as man's best friend's high tea.
Of these two routes where leapers' lot may lie,
alas! the first's the one less traveled by.
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