The Last Lion (poem)

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The Last Lion


Once magnificent beast, last of it’s kind


Pelt of fading yeast, eyes going blind


Been beaten down, though intact his pride


Is very scarred, like his hide


 


Dulled fangs and claws, though in his mind


Dreams of the days of unconfined


hunting, mane streaming with the wind


as he chases a deer


with his fellow feline peer


 


His pride was the first to go


I mean the one like a murder of crow


The two-legged hunters took them away


To sell their skins for an ample pay


 


They hunted him too, but he escaped


He hid in wait, though his heart ached


For his dead friends and fallen kin


He vowed to make them pay for their dark sin


 


But now he lies on a stone cliff unable to walk


They still pursue him, to this very rock


The lion curses his failing limbs


For he knows that the hunters will win


 


Intent on living, he is still inclined


To crawl away, but he thinks of his dignity


And so to his fate, he becomes resigned


On that very acclivity


The Eternal Hunt, he will soon find


 


The human hunters caught him there


Shot him without mercy, without a care


Though one tracker could have swore he saw


The old lion stand up on shaky paws


The stubborn cat, till death defy


Acted like a shamed pup


Bowed his head, and simply sighed


Then the great lion looked right up


The King of Beasts, he roared his pride

Created: Jul 10, 2012

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