Edgar Allan Poe, ‘The Pingu’
Once upon a night Antarctic, whilst I pondered the cathartic
Power of many quaint and tragic volumes of forgotten lore —
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a clapping,
As of flippers briskly slapping, slapping on my igloo floor.
“’Tis some penguin feet,” I muttered, “slapping on my igloo floor —
Only this and nothing more.”
Whereupon I checked my igloo as, with animated jig through,
In there stepped a stately Pingu from TV claymation borne;
Not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of trumpet-mage he turned his beak into a horn —
Stood within my igloo proudly, there upon my icy floor —
Stood, and looked, and nothing more.
Then this penguin bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave decorum of the blackness-whiteness of his suit:
“Though thy body’s plasticene-y, thou” I said, “art sure no weenie,
Penguin proud and brisk, though teeny, walking your Antarctic route
Tell me what you think you’re doing, on this dark Antarctic route?”
quoth the Pingu then “NOOT NOOT”
