Puffin Love

Puffin Love

Let’s take a trip to the Shetland Islands

A hundred miles from the Scottish coast

In the middle of the cold North Sea

To a little burrow as warm as toast

Dug out high on a jagged cliff

By generations that came before 

Nestled in bed with dreams of fishes

Paddington the Puffin quietly snores

Through the curtains on his windows

A soft pulsating glow

It’s the Muckie Flugga Lighthouse

His burrow right below 

But Paddington wakes up slowly

His brain still in a fog

First one eye and then the other

A little too much of that potent grog

He came from a long distinguished line

Of ancestors who’d received awards

For their contributions and unabashed bravery 

In helping the Brits win the second World War

They’d flown communiques to and from

Outposts up and down the coast

Dodging Messerschmitts of the mighty Luftwaffe

Sending warnings of Nazi U-boats

His great grandfather had even been knighted 

In a ceremony by the queen 

Dubbed the honorable Sir Paddington the first 

For helping to sink those submarines

So Paddington was a proud little Puffin

And considered himself quite special

And held his beak with a slight tilt up

Thanks to those underwater vessels

Practice and Pretend

But A creature of the air he was

Though his landings were precarious

He could skirt above the water with ease

But his stopping was hilarious 

No! The land was not his friend at all

His kind preferred the ocean

And chose to land on rocky cliffs

When they weren’t in motion 

Every flight young Paddington

Would pretend was a secret mission 

Carrying coded messages 

And protecting all of Briton 

Meanwhile all his fellow Puffins

Took their flying seriously 

While Paddy pretended he was off at war

They only flew fastidiously

They practiced scooping up little squids

While Paddy just did nothing

And soon they’d use their Puffin skills

To feed their baby Pufflings

Paddy didn’t have time for that

All of that practicality 

He’d rather spend his days alone

He didn’t need at a family 

So the days went by as Paddy played

With no responsibility 

One fateful night out with his friends

sealed his future destiny

Last night his pals had challenged him

To find a suitable mate

All within a year or less 

And Paddy took the bait

He said, “I’ll except your offer”

“And even raise the bet”

“She’ll take my hand in marriage”

“Before the next week’s sunset”

And now his fate was sealed it seemed 

A Puffin’s word it was his bond

And he had swore a solemn Puffin oath

though at the time he was quite bombed

All his bloats at the Pub last night

Kept raising their mugs over and over 

Singing Scottish drinking songs

From Barley Mow to Wild Rover

He could still here the chorus

Their glasses all raised high

“Let’s sing a song for Dear old Paddy

For his married days are nigh” 

“I've been a wild rover for many's the year

I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer

But now I'm returning with gold in great store

And I never will play the wild rover no more”

“And it's no, nay, never

No, nay never no more

Will I play the wild rover

No never no more”

Paddy swore he’d never drink again

And live a life that’s sober

For he was more a tame homebody

Than some fanciful Wild River

Like the lad in that drinking song

He’d tried to turn over a new leaf 

And be a responsible Puffington

But his attempt at it was brief 

He’d made a promise to himself

To never drink fermented krill

But last night that vow was broken

that evil liquid had crossed his bill 

Ancestry

And with that and a Puffin moan

He waddled out the bedroom door

Descending down the winding stairs 

Passed paintings of those that had gone before

Phinehas, Perceval, Pendleton, and Prestley 

Packston, Prentis , Palmer, and Peasley

Pittney, Poindexter, Prescott, and Puckeridge

Patrick, Pinckney, Princeton, and Prometheus

Their solemn faces stared at him

He suddenly felt ashamed

“My boy! You are a Puffington!”

He could hear them each exclaim

He shook his head and told himself

Don’t listen to those old ghosts

Just toughen up and you’ll be fine

You’re a Puffington and not milquetoast 

What did they know of modern times 

And the stresses he was under

How they kept their solemn traditions 

To him remained a wonder 

The problem was that Paddy 

Had lived a carefree life

He hadn’t settled down

With a family and a wife

He made his way to the water closet 

Turned on the gentle indoor spray

A nice bird bath might clear his head

And let him plan his day

As he fluttered and pruned the way birds do 

His thoughts turned to last night

And the dare that he’d accepted

One that sealed his plight

You see Paddington was quite privileged

From and old establish flock 

His family was the first to nest 

On this north-most desolate rock

That is why his burrow was so comfy

The amenities they were plenty

No other Puffins had such luxuries 

They were lucky to have any 

The nest had been here a very long time 

Before the Scottish in their kilts

Before Norsemen set foot upon these shores

Before the lighthouse was ever built 

Before the tourists and silly day hikers

Before the cyclists and their funny helmet hats

As old as the weathered rock that surrounded it 

As old as the very first Puffin in fact

Each generation had added on substantially

Their inventions quite impressive

And to the average Puffin

They might seem a bit excessive 

There was electric lights and an elevator

And hot water for the shower

With current pilfered from the lighthouse

They’d never miss the power 

One of the best inventions 

(From an ancestral dietitian)

Was installed by a dietician 

An aquarium filled with tasty baitfish

Right there in the kitchen

The water came from the ocean below

Pumped up by the Muckie Flugga hatchery

And a piping system diverted the fishy’s 

Straight to the Puffin’s menagerie 

Paddy wobbled into the kitchen

Still warm from a late night supper

He stoked the fire below the griddle

And opened a jar of apple butter 

He grabbed the net hung by the tank

And scooped up some tasty squids

Sssssss…making a sizzling sound

As they fried with a few sweet figs

He served them on a metal plate

left behind from the last Great War 

Some pumpkin bread to round it off

The same meal as the night before

As they cooked he waddled over

To his heavy oaken door

Hewn from an bow of an ancient ship

That had washed upon the shore 

It’s wrought iron hinges creaking

Protesting in the salty air

In the distance white caps cresting

And his fellow Puffins fishing there

Bending over with an arthritic groan 

He picked up his Puffin Post

All the news delivered each morning

Up and down the coast

As he laid it on the table 

Tucked in his breakfast nook

Light from the porthole window 

Made him take a second look

Printed across the front page

In a font meant to convince

“Puffin Princess travels to Iceland

To marry Icelandic Prince”

In a special color edition

Dressed in a sequenced gown

Was the Princess Wyneth Wigglebutts

Wearing her golden crown

Paddington just stood there breathless 

His webbed feet frozen in place

He had never a more perfect Puffin

With such a beautiful face

Each feature an epitome of perfection

With a exquisite Puffin physique 

From the triangle outline around her eye 

To the stripes on her red tipped beak

The smell of something burning

Shook him from his spell

His squid, he’d left them in the pan 

Guess they’ll be cooked quite well

He moved the pan off of the fire

He’d saved them just in time

The sugary figs had scorched a bit

But the squid would be just fine

He sat down at the breakfast table

Thoughts spinning in his head

He had to learn about this Princess

And when she was to wed

He began to read about her

As he munched on his squid and figs

He wondered if she knew how to cook

Without burning things like he did