The Quoll

In ancient trees, where sunlight strains,
Through emerald leaves, a dappled rain,
A silent hunter, sleek and wise,
With watchful ears and knowing eyes.

Moss-covered stones and fallen logs,
A symphony of chirps and croaks,
A blur of fur, a flash of brown,
A fleeting glimpse, then fades to the ground.

The forest floor, a hidden maze,
Of twisted roots and sunlit haze,
A precious life, a vital thread,
The tiny marsupial, the Quoll, treads.

By busy streams, where water flows,
And wildflowers bloom in vibrant rows,
A watchful gaze, a twitching nose,
The balance hangs, a fragile pose.

But shadows creep, and darkness nears,
A changing world, with growing fears,
The forest shrinks, a hollow drum,
Can this precious creature overcome?