With apologies to Emily Dickinson, I post my humble little mutation of a poem:
Humor intended, of course
I title this “Not everybody embraces a live pterodactyl.”
I believe that these bioluminescent nocturnal flying predators eat more than just bats and birds. I also believe it’s better that Western society gets to know about these wonderful creatures, although it may be “better not to know” them through close contact.
To learn about this apparent modern pterosaur, see Ropen
Here is the non-image text of my poem:
- Ropen, the thing without feathers,
- That sleeps inside a hole,
- And eats the bats and perching birds,
- And never stops at all . . .
- Is it better not to know?
The original poem by Emily Dickinson begins, “Hope is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul . . .”