The craving strikes on the cold moonless nights.
Deep in the swamps of New South Wales does he hide.
Only at the New Moon does this transformation occur.
When it begans he feels perverse glee.
Oh, woe is the fact it occurs not more often!
First it strikes his face.
He feels the bill grow.
But then it is in his hands and feet.
What once were mere fingers and toes become a web.
The feel of the fur growing is the most pleasurable part.
Now he is free!
Free to experience the joys denied him most times.
To swim with such effortlessness.
The water caressing him gently.
To feel and taste with such abandon.
The joys of the platypus!
Fools with two legs shall never know!
The simple pleasures he enjoys in the company of true platypuskind.
Yet the sadness to as their numbers dwindle.
It is all part of the package and the appeal.
The dizzying heights and depths of their being.
A life of simple yet rich joys and pure sorrows.
To soon he will be human again.
To soon must he drag himself to work.
Back to the drudgery of being a small time bureaucrat.
A paper pusher of no account.
Yet tonight there is the water, the mud, & the company.
And the hopes of New Moons yet to come.
Splashing with a lovely lady platypus in the dark moonless night.
Seeing the time as if it were eternal.
He can only thank what ever God exists for the platypus that bit him.
On another moonless night so long ago.