Thursday, 17 August 2006

What Happens to Dead Penguins? by Sally Evans

From living colonies
a path to higher ground,
a worn trail winds.

Here the old and frail
ascend to a pool
of fresh melt-waters.

Deep layers of corpses lie
in wet ancestral vaults,
depth of clarity.

Those few, who age
and do not die too soon,
take penguin stance.

This twice described
at South Georgian stations
by curious, thirsting men.

We face in from the rim,
towards the riddle
of our last parade.

Sally Evans, Callander, Scotland

2 comments:

Juliet Wilson said...

This is a sad and beautiful poem. You can sense the dignity of the dying penguins in the face of their own individual deaths and the death of their species too?

jim said...

You pick them well juliet, this one is exceptional, I walked the path, I felt the time that passed, I too took the stance and turned to watch the parade.