They looked good
Lying by the waterhole.
So, we took pictures.  And
They looked good
Standing by the waterhole, so
We took pictures. But
They did not look good
Charging straight at us with
A long, sharp horn and
Two tonnes of muscle thundering
Towards us at thirty kilometres an hour, so
We did not take pictures.  Instead
We dove
Into the thornbushes
And hugged their tiny daggers to us
While the rhino thundered past.

Crawled out, after
Plucked each painful barb
Out from our lacerated flesh
While thanking this prickly vegetation for
Allowing us to embrace it
In this, the moment of our need.