Ode to a Scaley Anteater

Ah, good evening, pangolin, come waving your tail.
The moonlight makes diamonds out of ev'ry scale.
You do your prospecting when all others sleep.
In truth, we're expecting the termites will weep.

You snuffle, and whuffle, and walk on your claws.
And yet seek no truffle, for that, you've no cause.
You scrabble near termite mounds, stay clear of shrubs.
For surely it seems that your favorite grub's grubs.

Your tongue often darts inches out of your head.
And you hope that there's bugs in your daily bread!
And at daybreak, when good pangolins go to rest.
You're safe as you snooze in your leopard-proof vest.

The darkness lies thickly, the night is still drawing.
You wrap round a foe's limb and quickly start sawing.
And yet, you are gentle, and go on your way.
Quite calm, and not mental--just nobody's prey!

I watch from a distance and just let you be.
If not a close friend, at least no amputee!
You've not any teeth, and so need not floss.
Your claws, underneath, do not need nail gloss.

Though clean, straight and sober, you yet remain hip.
Your life is a dream, a (formic) acid trip.
And so, since there's nothing much else I can do,
I wish you a calm and respectful adieu.