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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