A Penguin Loves Its Home

A Penguin Loves Its Home 

By Robinson Tong 

Admiring the white, untouched sleet, 

Crunching under his satisfied feet. 

The taste of fish still in his beak, 

The penguin is no longer weak. 

Now, over the snow he will roam, 

Oh, how a penguin loves its home. 

 

In the seas, the penguin spies, 

A patch of black, like in the skies. 

It scares the fish and stings its nose 

And stains its feathers the color of crows. 

And from the beak flows white foam, 

Oh, how a penguin loves its home. 

 

The penguin finds the sea to be bare, 

And fish, krill and squid very rare. 

His empty stomach aches and growls, 

And, looking at him, a seal scowls. 

The shore piling with Styrofoam, 

Oh, how a penguin loves its home. 

 

The food all gone, the sky gray and black, 

Not a sound, not a crunch or a quack. 

No snow and sleet for penguins to roam. 

How can a penguin love its home, 

With a barren and empty shore, 

When his beloved home is no more? 

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