The tears they rolled onto the freezing grass
They melted all the snowflakes like a fountain
Who would have thought such shame would come to pass?
Such sorrow at the foothills of the mountain?
It’s gone! It’s gone! They took the very thing
That did define the self-worth of the creature
Without it, its no longer looked the king
Of special beasts, of ones with wond’rous features
And yet the poacher did not care for this
When he his evil handsaw chose to brandish
The beast could freeze, it mattered not a piss
The poacher’s plans –alas — were more outlandish
For this bit of compressed and glowing hair
Was said to cure the ill, the sad, the flaccid
Though if you paid twelve thousand for a pair
Of ounces, then methinks you are on acid
The creature shivered, slumped its head and frowned
So what that it had managed to live through it?
A mate was not expected to be found
Of its kind it was sole remaining steward