Baskadia

In a backwoods meadow, a porcupine timid, With plumes so sharp, however a delicate moan.

Tentatively he steps through the murmuring pines,

A spiky coat, an animal that leans back.

Shuddering nose, in the moon's delicate sparkle,

He conceals in shadows, a tranquil scene. However inside those plumes, a heart so benevolent,

A hesitant soul, a delicate psyche.

He yearns for companions, a glow to share, In any case, fears his spines might cause despair.

However in the twilight evening, an opportunity to find,

Associations that mitigate the restless psyche.