I saw it in a dream
or maybe on the internet.
The year I die is 2055.
I have forty two years left.
There are many things I need to do before then.
I want to travel around the world,
set foot on every continent, including Antarctica,
I’ll make naked snow angels, my body unfurled.
I will get cold undeniably,
but no one can stop me, not even the penguins.
They’ll waddle by knowing they have nothing to fear
for I have nothing growing on me resembling a dark grey fin.
Though this poem may seem odd,
full of gibberish and silly lines,
at least I did one of the things I wanted to do before I die.
I wrote about both penguins and my nudity and made it rhyme.