Along the Bukit Timah Expressway
Came the pangolin, gentler
Than the grass by the side of the road,
Rarer, than a vacant lot downtown.
Imperiled, walking death, he heeds
Not the passing cars.
Nor knows he a simple turn, few steps
Is all it takes to stop the dawn
For him, nor would he know
Is he the last pangolin?
But more he knows at least, than
The driver who feels a little bump,
And misses nothing.