So many titles, native and foreign,
Misunderstood by so many men.
Where have you been, since '36?
Have you found a better place for your kind to mix?
Your striped hindquarters and jackal head
Make many hope that you are not dead.
O great hunter, O creature of the night,
Will you be found again and raised to the light?
Many think you're still out there,
Breathing and enjoying the fresh air,
But we will never know the truth
Until you give us the ultimate proof.
O thylacine, O moonlight tiger,
Won't you show the world that you're a survivor?
YOU ARE READING
Creative Writing
PoetryThis semester, I'm in a Creative Writing course, and I figured I'd publish some of the things I've written in it thus far. Some of them have very specific formats that are going to be tricky to write on a laptop, but I'm going to do my best.
