The Pangolin Poem by Gert Strydom

In the veldt walking through the bushy wold
the winter was touching me with it's cold
but in the late afternoon at almost the end of the day,
the sun turned everything to a lighter gold
while zebras and impalas did run away
and the world seemed both young and very old
when a female pangolin and one of her young came across my way
and in the past of the pangolin many stories I was told.

They looked at me with their narrow tapered heads
fear was in the amber-brown eyes that were like beads
while timidly they glanced toward the knee-high grass
trying to break away the mother took the lead

but became aware that it was just too far for her young
and wiggling her long thin tongue
draw her small one closer to her with her rake-like front claws
as right against her, her baby did belong

closing over the child see rolled up in a ball of mail
which seems immensely strong and not frail
with rough raising scales covering that cuirass
as if every attack from here on in would fail.

For moments in silence near to them I was
before I walked away to that long yellow-brown winter grass
while around me the veldt was alive with its own silent tranquillity
while many of the wild game did me slowly pass.

© Gert Strydom