Lion Down
Once great, now feeble, he walks his land,
With quivering scepter in his hand.
Now relentlessly stalked by nature’s fate,
Instinct plays drum to his drawn-out gait.
With nostrils flared he seeks their air,
But horizoned eyes confirm his despair.
He circles n’ circles the sun-bleached bone,
Those stilled remains of those he’d known.
Season after season he has roamed the plain
As nature determines the length of his reign
Now, beside those bones he’ll surrender his crest.
It's come, his turn to for eternal rest
He was the last of his pride that anyone saw.
Now fossilized soil will enshrine his claw.
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