She stalks her prey
through grasses tall,
in savannah brown,
dressed for this ball.

This dance begins
downwind of breeze,
queen lioness
on bended knee.

Hunched low in dress
so still in wait;
a drying pool,
the zebra bait.

A shift in wind
stripes pick the scent
so startled now
queen in descent.

She lunges forth
her prey at pace,
the hunted wild
the race, the chase.

So fleet of foot
these two at dance,
flashing through the grass;
playful romance.

Our lioness
such determined grit,
the zebra slips,
prey takes a hit.

A claw digs deep
Hamstring it rips
A zebra flails
queen keeps her grip.

Unfazed is she
whilst piercing veins,
her dress now soaked
in scarlet stains.

Her eyes tell all,
her prey in fear,
they whisper sweet,
“Thank you, my dear.”

O, lioness
your only known
to feed that pride,
ne’er else shown.

Just to exist
out on this plain,
to kill, to feed
in family’s name.

This mum of cubs,
this is the way
she sees the need,
she stalks her prey.

Lets last breath pass
idles off to den,
sacrifice in tow,
life revolves again.

MT

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