Forty-Three: Sonnet of the Armored Land Narwhal

  Our narwhal, armored, prances 'cross the land,

  his friendly eyes attracting raptured gazes.

  His tusk aloft, he cannot understand

  some common brute who trods, and merely grazes.

  Say, narwhal, tell us when you did depart

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  your slipp'ry cousins who through seas still roam.

  What kinfolk whom you once held close to heart

  now watch you, jealous, trapped beneath the foam?

  Your pond’rous bulk protecting you from blows;

  your hefty flanks imparting noble bearing.

  Your head aloft with pride, ignoring foes;

  just like a knight, his finest blazon wearing.

  Our narwhal – plated, landed – charms our sight;

  awakes our hearts, to hearts’ and eyes’ delight!

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