We are not swift-footed,
The gift bestowed on our fellow animal beings.
The rabbit and the antelope run as though
They have wings on their feet.
We of the porcupine tribe
Have the monopoly of clumsiness.
But have over the years developed
A sure way of defending our lives,
In case the humans descend upon us
In the middle of the night
While we are making a feast of their green maize.

I have taught my little ones:
Do not attempt to run.
You can never out run their ferocious dogs,
The animals that kill fellow animals
To satisfy their flesh-eating masters,
For a reward of a bare bone!

Withdraw your heads,
And let your quills stand out like a jungle of spikes.
You will walk away victorious,
When their dogs run away howling in agony
With one or two quills embedded in their flesh.
They have no fingers to extract the quill
And their masters are no surgeons!