The penguin, being black on white
(or white on black, as you prefer)
elicits our naive delight
in feathered formal dress (as fur
on skunks: New England white-on-black,
contrariwise on Erie’s shore)
while quaintly bobbing front to back
and side to side, at two foot four.

By contrast, Jeeves at six foot plus
(as smoothly played by Stephen Fry)
seems scarcely risible to us
save as he saves, by ruses sly,
young Wooster, who’s supremely dim
(burlesquing England’s upper class)
from floundering: Penguins deftly swim;
not so Wodehouse’s urban ass.

Had I a valet, I might wish
for Jeeves, urbane in suave attire
(unlike those birds, who smell of fish,
and live on ice), to stoke my fire,
see to my garments, brew my tea,
bring me my mail, and make my bed –
for want of whom, I’m off to sea
to seek the penguins out instead.

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