ARMADILLO.They sit, contented, and watch with mere-
Passing interest,
How intriguing! The sourceless rush of
Wishes and wants. As he
Snuffles over the dry leaves,
-As crackling parchment- and faded
Dreams.
Soft nose, flared, most and warm; he caresses.
The searching Armadillo, passing over
Them- inviting, his touch.
So met, only with mild curiosity,
And the wide-eyed acceptance, of they-
The Innocent. Pure of the wants-
The poison of wishes ungranted. And curious,
They touch. Ah, the rough skin –so perplexing-
A corrugated shield. Incomprehensible, the
Plated armour- of a grizzled Veteran.
Poor Armadillo,
Scarred. For there will always be chinks in armour-
The sly dig ‘tween overlapping plates.
Puzzled are they, by the Armadillo, so gentle,
They do not understand ‘scar’.
They, untouched, watch all bemused, as we-
With our dreams, yearn.
The Armadillo, he sleeps between them,
-In quiet contentment- at peace;
As we too watch -in passing interest-, but with
Envy.
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