His furrowed brow, his heavy face,
He looks for things that are out of place.
The ones that stands and beats his chest,
Is the beast that matches best.
With her social, inquisitive curiosity,
Her black, her white, her serenity.
She does not eat the bamboo shoots,
But with the big racoon she is in cahoots.
She peers at the world via her break,
She stands on one leg, poised to speak.
The principle fisher, the tall wading thing,
With this creature she has much akin.
The claws for gripping, not for war,
The slow careful way so full of lore.
An easy mark for a predator,
For whom survival can be quite a chore.
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