Penguin, penguin, burning bright
On the icefield in the night,
What incendiary spark
Could break the sempiternal dark?
In what broken, tattered dream,
Filled with fumes of kerosene,
Threw the match or tossed the lighter,
Watched as fire flickered brighter?
And what elbow and what art
Could bend the ruler of that heart?
And when that heart would skip a beat,
What was then around to eat?
What the bucket? what the rope?
In what chimney was there smoke?
What the matchbox? What fell fool
Lit the penguin's wading pool?
When the penguins built their biers,
And kept their thoughts between their ears,
Did critics see the penguin's flare,
Or care to note a fire there?
Penguin, penguin, burning bright
On the icefield in the night,
What incendiary spark
Could break the sempiternal dark?
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