The otter's charm, so little known
Holds no ceptre, has no throne
Lives in groups or on his own
Relishing his dearest stone.
Dirt upon which otter rests,
In a coat of comfort drest,
The big wide river makes him guest,
Its wealth upon the beast bequests.
Though in the waves at home is he,
and on the surface equally,
In either must he cease to be,
Split half and half, the otter's see.
Hunger drives him to the depths
where Lord Above grants him a fest,
must yet come up to catch his breath,
must climb back out, of strength bereft.
His charm is in simplicity,
and aptitude and mystery.
Not status or celebrity,
not profit or utility.
No! He lives unseen, unheard,
in the privy spots of Earth,
far to which no man traversed,
so his beauty stays covert.
As between homes his home is split,
as between each of both he flits,
so too his self and soul is split,
two distinct natures they emit.
One like a terrifying beast,
brutish strength, sharp claws and teeth
craving only tasty meat
inbetween his webbed-toed feet.
The other busy frolicking,
nimbly diving, scampering,
juggling, rolling, or enjoying
upon his breast the sun-rays shining.
Where both of these are married, splendid!
Grace and vice, in one, ascended.
In the otter they are blended.
This Almighty God intended.