BEASTLY TALES

AN EASTER SURPRISE

“I want to go to a vacation spot,”
“That’s totally unusual, and not too hot!”
So said Freddie Flounder, perusing a brochure on travel,
In a desperate attempt to try to unravel,
This conundrum on travel, be it smooth or like gravel.
Yes, rough and tumble, gravel-like rough.
“Of holiday uncertainty, I’ve sure had enough!”
The travel brochure opened at Easter Island,
“This could be my holiday spot, yes, my land!”
“For a week, or two, at the very least,”
“A Polynesian influence, a Polynesian feast.”

Isla de Pascua, it is called in Spanish.
Not with coral reefs, never had them, didn’t vanish,
A rocky coast-line, with an occasional beach,
Extinct volcanoes, not too hard to reach,
The weather is milder, not too frilly.
The island itself, a protectorate of Chile.
Interesting scenery, to feast the eyes,
And many, many large statues, Moais, Moais, Moais!
There they are, standing in a row!
Some lying on the ground, as though in a tow.
Coloured grey, being volcanic rock,
Some with hats, a volcanic red top-knot.

Located roughly mid-way, between Tahiti and Chile,
Easter Island is not mountainous, but certainly hilly.
Freddie Flounder checked into his accommodation for his stay,
Comfortable enough, near a picturesque bay.
The island isn’t huge, can be walked in a day.
So, off Flounder went, ready for fun and play.
He soon found a rocky platform, of considerable size,
And there, standing in a row, Moais, Moais, Moais.
Just as shown in the brochure, he’d seen the picture,
There they all were, without any stricture.
Flounder walked next, to the quarry volcano,
Where those Moai bodies had been carved, a real no “brain-o”.
How could the natives, so long ago,
Have moved them to the coast,
Where the larger number are found, yes, the most.
The island is devoid of any heavy wood,
Cranes or rollers weren’t possible, it is understood,
A curiosity, with no clear-cut solution.
Many theories have been expounded, no pollution.

Flounder made his way back to his digs,
He’d walk to the hotel to see how they lived, the pigs!
Comparatively luxurious, with a bar and a pool.
“Makes me feel like a poor relative fool.”
Freddie Flounder walked up to the bar,
“I’ll have a beer, a large one, to go far.”
“Senor, you should try a Pisco Sour!”
“It’ll give you a kick, with considerable power!”
“Bring’em on,” Flounder did declare.
“Two or three of them, I won’t have a care!”
The Pisco Sour taste was quite to his liking,
Particularly after a day of hard hiking.
Eventually he found his way to a little beach with small waves,
Backed by a cliff, with many low caves.
And that is just where he did spend the night,
By the morning, he looked quite a sight!
Worse for wear from too many a pisco sour,
He looked and felt rough, at that early hour.

Now, looking up at a nearby huge Moai,
Freddie began to wonder as to just why,
Such a huge towering obelisk was made,
And then transported with difficulty, with little aid.
The Moai stared back, in a manner enigmatic,
It’s unchangeable expression most emphatic,
That of an absolute ruler, very autocratic,
The long nose set in an angle aristocratic.
Did it have a secret room, high in the attic?
Certainly not an itinerant mover, peripatetic.
Freddie scratched his befuddled head.
“I think it time, I went to bed!”