lazily over a warm
slab of grey
rock heated gently by the Sun.
eyelids half-closed heavy with the heat;
soft padded paw curled
almost like a fist.
and two spiraling flies
buzzing around her eyes,
caused a flick-of-the-tail
(or two).
she is Proud
like no other lion can be Proud:
for she is the Hunter,
the Gatherer, the Carer,
the Wise,
the Guardian, the Protector,
the Mother.
she watches as
her young frolic on the
burnt plains;
a smirk playing gently
at the corners of her
lips as she knowingly
observes those pale
brown figures hiding
pathetically behind
tufts of grass,
she almost Laughs
(do they think she cannot
see them in their
khaki shorts and
tourist hats?)
she lies unabashedly naked,
her golden fur glinting
in the light, she
needs no melodramatic
mane or roar -
for all her Power lies
in her stealth,
in her silence.
1927
151209
