The Little Red Penguin

 

The Little Red Penguin 

 

In his igloo sat the little penguin,

Staring at the wall.

With nothing much to play with

But his little penguin doll.

 

The minutes turned to hours,

And he figured he was bored.

He waddled to his mother’s room.

He was tired of being ignored.

 

“How are you, my special one?”

His mother said with glee.

“I’m bored and sad and lonely,

No one will play with me.”

 

“Well my son, the day is young,

Go out and find a friend.”

But in his heart the penguin knew

He simply didn’t blend.

 

“But mom, I’m red.  I’m not like them.

They’ll run away and hide!

All they see is black and white,

They don’t care what’s inside.”

 

“Crazy talk!” his mother said,

“Go out and join the crowd.”

So off went little penguin,

To make his mother proud.

 

 

He walked and walked and walked

Until his feet could take no more.

And then he saw some penguins

Playing catch out by the shore.

 

They tossed the snowball back and forth.

Their laughter filled the air.

But when they saw the little guy

They stopped their game to stare.

 

“Why are you red?” the big one asked,

“It really is quite queer.

The rules say we are black and white.

To them you don’t adhere.”

 

“I don’t know what to tell you.

It’s simply how I am.”

But before he had time to finish

There was a splash and away they swam.

 

“Why don’t the others like me?

We really are the same.”

A single tear fell from his eye

As he walked away in shame.

 

Uphill he saw an igloo,

To which he did ascend.

‘I wonder who lives here,’ he thought.

‘Perhaps they’ll be my friend.’

 

He walked himself up to the door

And knocked upon it gently.

And for someone to open it,

He listened quite intently.

 

Out came an older penguin

With huge glasses and a cane.

He glared down at his visitor

With a look of clear disdain.

 

“My eyesight may be bad,” he said

“But I am not insane!

You’re certainly no penguin.

To which group do you pertain?”

 

 

“Just because I’m red

Doesn’t mean I’m not like you.

Colour means nothing to penguin-hood,

Not red, nor green, nor blue!”

 

“You’re lying to me little one,

For this is clear to see!

If you really were a penguin

You’d be black and white like me!”

 

“But sir, I am.  I promise you!

I have no need to lie.”

With that, the door slammed in his face.

A rather harsh goodbye.

 

Again he felt defeated -

Very tired of his curse.

But little did he know

That things would go from bad to worse.

 

Back to the hill he waddled

To prepare for his descent.

When he slipped upon a sheet of ice

And down the slope he went.

 

Tumble, tumble, tumble

Went his little penguin frame.

And when he reached the bottom,

To his rescue someone came.

 

“Bonjour, my friend.  Are you alright?

You sure took quite the spill!”

But little penguin didn’t speak,

Instead he laid there, still.

 

“Talk to me, oh little one!

For sure you can’t be dead!”

She grabbed onto his reddish frame

And shook his little head.

 

His thoughts returned from Wonderland.

Farewell to talking pies.

And as his bloodshot eyes emerged,

He was taken by surprise.

 

 

“Good, you’re back,” the stranger said.

“I knew you’d be okay.”

She offered him her flipper.

“Please get up.  I want to play!”

 

Little penguin, looking puzzled,

Took it thoughtfully and said:

“Why would you want to play with me?

I’m clumsy, small and red.”

 

“Colour doesn’t mean a thing,

It’s what’s inside of you.

My cousin’s green, my aunt is pink,

My grandpa’s black and blue!

 

There certainly is good in you,

For that is clear to see.

Come on!  Let’s go!  Let’s seize the day!

And make it home for tea.”

 

A smile crossed little penguin’s face.

He’d finally found a friend.

And learned, to play with someone

Doesn’t mean you have to blend.

 

Their flippers linked and off they went,

Far out into the snow.

Their statement was a seed

That from there could only grow.