The Puffin

The salty breeze blew
On Iceland’s south coast
As puffins ate meals
Of herring on toast.

But Gunnar disliked
All foods with a stench
He craved something better
He craved something French.

He grabbed eggs and spices
And syrup to boast
The pan sizzled loudly
With tasty French toast

The fat loaf of challah
With cinnamon powder
Smelled ten times better
Than thick herring chowder.

The birds flew right towards
The sweet smell of maple
And munched on the toast
Their new breakfast staple

So on the south coast
Where cold makes you toughen
You’ll find lofty cliffs
And carb-loading puffins

The Trade

Oh Toby, you’re my best friend. I wouldn’t trade you for the world.

Not even for a newer, fluffier puppy?

Not even for the fluffiest puppy in the world.

Not even for a dollar.

Money can’t compare to you. I wouldn’t trade you for the world.

Not even for a pony?

Toby, you know that’s unfair. I’ve always wanted a pony.

Not even for a donut?

Is it a sprinkled donut?

Rainbow sprinkles.

Oh swizzle sticks! You know I can’t resist rainbow sprinkles.

A chance to become a princess?

Does it come with a castle?

Yes, one with a drawbridge, a moat, and maybe a pet dragon.

You know that’s a once in a lifetime offer!



But if I traded you, then I wouldn’t have anyone to ride the pony with. I couldn’t possibly eat the whole donut myself. And that castle would be awfully lonely without you.

What if it was a pony-filled castle with a donut-breathing pet dragon?

Toby, I wouldn’t trade you for the world.