A creature so unlike a dinosaur,
Pallid, weak and frail.
No fossil in the stony flesh of Mother Earth,
Unlike trilobite, leaf or snail.
Worse yet, no one searches for your trace,
Or recognises that you're missing,
They're all wrapped up in studying,
Fornication, fondling and kissing.
No biologist, paleontologist, anthropologist,
Searches for your presence, growing frantic,
To find at least one before the Great Extinction,
The last of the true Romantics.
T'is true they're not searching for you now,
Without rutting their interest is small,
They'll learn one day that the old ways were true,
And again you may hear hopeful calls