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Poem	Oh, ponder, friend, the porcupine; Refresh your recollection, And sit a moment, to define His means of self-protection. How truly fortified is he! Where is the beast his double In forethought of emergency And readiness for trouble? Recall his figure, and his shade- How deftly planned and clearly For slithering through the dappled glade Unseen, or pretty nearly. Yet should an alien eye discern His presence in the woodland, How little has he left to learn Of self-defense! My good land! For he can run, as swift as sound, To where his goose may hang high- Or thrust his head against the ground And tunnel half to Shanghai; Or he can climb the dizziest bough- Unhesitant, mechanic- And, resting, dash from off his brow The bitter beads of panic; Or should pursuers press him hot, One scarcely needs to mention His quick and cruel barbs, that got Shakespearean attention; Or driven to his final ditch, To his extremest thicket, He'll fight with claws and molars (which Is not considered cricket). How amply armored, he, to fend The fear of chase that haunts him! How well prepared our little friend!- And who the devil wants him?
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