White Lion

Fur as white as snow, Much more rare than gold. His eyes are sapphires lighting up the dark, His legends are ancient and old. Little by little, He stalks his prey. But being white robbed him of his skills, The antelope raises his head and runs away. He shakes his massive white mane, Defeated. Though some times are rough, More days will be completed. Little does he know, Another hunt is taking place. A man is following him, At a fast and steady pace. A snap of a twig, the turn of his head. A shot of a gun, And the lion lay dead. This may not have happened, If it weren't for me. What man is missing, Is empathy. Stella H