Poem of the Week-Parade

Phillip Island is homebase

For the miniature penguins

Great Sights tour from Melbourne

Ready for the grand finale.

Dane guided the Greyhound bus

Through majestic koalas,




Penguins maneuver the aquatics

Defiantly until they hit land.

Uncoordinated out of the ocean

Fearing predators.

The waddle doesn’t prevent attack.

Becoming nocturnal

Exposing themselves when the sun sets.

A companion to vampire bats,

Our tour placed us on bleachers

Viewing this parade in town.

Layers of clothing prevented

Brisk windy chill

From attacking our bones.

The new moon searched for exposure,

Our eyes searched for signs of life.

The time promise

Of eight thirty-five

Made for suspense.

The previous evening,

1204 penguins danced on the sand.

The eclectic crowd pointed

Towards a glimmer of movement.

With barely enough light,

Corneas worked overtime

For a successful spotting.

An impatient plea, “I don’t see anything Neal.”

His hands of love point, “Don’t you see them running?”

Rubbing eyeballs to clarify images

Tricks me into a successful sighting.

Cute as a button mammals

Scurry across the sand

To the shelter of burrows

Fearless parading.









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