The Weaver granted a boon
To a stately Knight of the Rune.
With nary a pause
He drew oohs and ahs
As he set his sights on the moon.

He wanted the streets of Cyrene
Transformed by a wonderful scene
Of penguins at play,
All night and all day,
In the falling snow, fluffy and clean.

Lord Clementius happily nodded
And down from the North penguins plodded
On little webbed feet.
The took over the streets
As the Citizens danced, probed, and prodded.

In their white and black tuxes they bobbled
As the onlookers playfully coddled.
Even the most somber
Could be grim no longer
As in mimic they gleefully wobbled.

Now carols we're no longer singing,
To heaven the penguins are winging.
We'll fondly remember
The boon of our Senator
As the bells in the tower are ringing.


Penned by my hand on the 18th of Ero, in the year 393 AF.