Disarmoured

The sand which cast the termites out

Marked the drag of a scaly myth,

Trailing into thick, low tangle

'A pangolin! A pangolin!'

We cried,

Jolting at its heels!

 

Plated like a Legion Soldier

It rolled up tight into a ball.

While spearing eyes poke the armour

For face, for nose, or eye!

 

But special secrets will keep low

When lingering shadows cast their teeth

So dropping

down as if to lie

Breathing...

Ceasing...

Laying low to softly pry,

 

I draw a little telling eye.

Done