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Sunday, 21 June 2015


Mane flowing like the sun's rays,
he prowls...
across the grasslands of his kingdom:
holding his head up high,
he's not afraid of anything;
that is why,
he is the King... 
of the wild, 

Creeping through the grasslands
...silent and inconspicuous,
from his unsuspecting prey:
he lowers his head,
get's ready to pounce, 
for a minute... 
the whole world seems motionless,
for a second... 
he looks like a part of the golden sun;
to the ground he leaps...
his sharp claws pierce the skin of his bewildered prey

© Debbie Razey 2015