Once upon my igloo shrine, while I was fishing with my line,

The night was cold and dreary, pondering of a long lost theory—

While I tugged, nearly falling, I felt my line slowly drawing,

As of something gently flapping under the hole in my icy floor.

“Tis some visitor,” I mumbled, “flapping on my icy floor—

Hearing this more and more.

Oh, clearly I recall it was in the stark December;

And each tapping sound was growing louder which was all I could remember.

Suddenly I opened my igloo door, and the flapping had stopped

I looked up and down and my mouth had dropped

The penguin began to waddle around the floor

Then the penguin replied, “Feed me more.”

There were fish sitting in the bucket in the corner

While the penguin left the room disordered;

Although the penguin had stolen my food,

He always put me in a good mood.