Upon the Serengeti plains
The lion spends each idle day.
Contentedly, he licks away
At paws that still have bloody stains
From last night's meal. He takes great pains
To groom himself while thinking “May
My life be one of food and play.”
Out here, it hardly ever rains,
And when it does, acacia leaves
Give cover till returning suns
Pour down their incandescent sheaves.
But she, his mate, with panting breath,
In fierce pursuit still runs and runs
Until their dinner’s done to death.
Last edited by Brian Allgar; 03-12-2013 at 06:59 AM.
Reason: Replaced line 10-11
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