'Twas an iron-gray day,
The blue sky above blanket'd by the puffy cotton balls of clouds,
As if it were the plumage of a thunderbird.

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The hellstorm of raindrops chilled
By the frigid Fall wind
Falls upon mine own countenance,
Filling mine soul and freezing mine body.

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I shivered and shaked,
Trembled and tremor'd,
Mine body being a bit too thin
To hold the wondrous warmth
Of the furious flames 
Within mine body.

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But behold,
For the rain hath been banished!
Not by natural occurrence, nay -
For mine sharpened ears hath heard a mighty wingbeat.

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'Twas not a bird's wingbeat,
For I hast not heard such an odd sound.
Nay, I looked up skyward...
The form I saw, I could not believe in or has't faith in such a creature.

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It had the body of a bird ('twas bigger than the area of New York City)
Yet it had no wings -
Nay, it had six mighty Human arms!
Three on each side, complete with paired hands!
Yea, did it fly, oh how the bird soared!
It flexed its most wondrous arms,
The muscles looking mightier than meteor strikes,
Which kept the bird in flight using its full force.

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With each flex, its eagle-accurate eyes gleamed,
Its bright and blinding glow
brighter than the blazing sun that shone through the sheet of clouds,
The mere power of its flexing tearing the blanketed sky.

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The army, seeing this as a threat, fired missiles,
But what fruitless results came out of it,
For the bird hath caught each one and tossed it right back.

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Those sirs shot shells instead,
But alas,
The muscles and even the body caused the shells to bounce back.

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The bird then escaped,
For it flexed beyond the heroic might of Hercules,
And a most wondrous sound, o Reader, was heard,
Before the bright gleam of its eyes wast brighter than the sun!

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We civilians,
Who had seen such strength of the mighty bird,
Could only utter one name,
A name that fit the muscled feathered fowl...

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Chad Chadovitch von Chaddington III.