As promised, here is the Ode to a Gentoo poem that I read out on fake Burns
Night. It was written by the whole of the Port Lockroy contingency!
Fair fa’ your orange beakie face
Great chieftan o’ the penguin race
An Adelie couldn’t take ye place.
At Port Lockroy from East to West
You gather pebbles ot make your nest.
In the summer days all endless lit
To the visitors you are a hit
All huddled down, covered in shit.
Our flying foes, sheathbill and skua,
The number of chicks are getting fewer.
On land, you waddle in your tuxedo
Underwater, you fly like a torpedo
To escape a seal, you step on the speedo.
On your diet of krill, you’re not a drinker
But if you were here, you would toast Elinca.
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