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Song of The Pygmy Three-Toed Sloth No 9: ABBA
It's back to the wilds, for the unexplored
Panama's island, Pygmy Three-Toed Sloths.
Tree huggers, twenty hours daily, course, lots
of trees. Four of a kind, their fifth, record
as the smallest. Clocked slow, a leaf lasts one
month in its tummies till its slow slop drops.
They're six pounds and twenty inches, a pop.
Furs algae-fied hide them. Swim can be done.
Again, it resurfaces, a world-wide
dilemma, in pictures and portrait drapes
over a posh hotel table of crepes.
Concerned and unconcerned, great the divide.
In twenty-twelve, I.U.C.N., counted ...
less than eighty, now ... they're, unaccounted.
Copyright ©
Hilo Poet
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