On the last inhabitable spit of land
Waddle six-and-thirty penguins
Dressed to kill and built to last
Till the glacier creaks and moans,
Disaffected, as it cracks
Slowly yet with purpose
Then one day as children play
Fathers hunt, and mothers wait,
Their home, pressured, rends in two
They bellyslide into the sea
In search of somewhere else to breed,
To live, to build, to rise again
Unaware that that home, too,
Will crack and melt, return to sea
And if they knew, they would not care