The penguin male sits upon the shore
The mating cycle begins in earnest.
She arrives in early spring,
to make her yearly conquest
A call, a squawk , a thrust of their beak,
this drive within to correspond.
To find the perfect partner,
or renew an everlasting bond.
Unceasingly these winds unwind
as male & female weld.
Instinct is the perfect way,
the social trend upheld.
But what of man & womanhood
As their beastly ways unfold?
Instinct is the perfect way
& this should we uphold?
What & where is the social trend?
And does the greatest number rule?
What squawk & thrust should I make?
Has instinct become the fool?
Poem on the mating cycle