EXCERPT:

Old Lion

The lion is weary now.

His head sinks in the fur of his once mighty paws.

His mane is thin, his jaw is downy white.

Deep scars etch his brow

From the battles of his younger days.

In the summer of his life

The lion’s back was strong,

No burden too heavy to bear.

His stride was quick and fierce

And when he charged

No one dared stand before him.

He sat upon a hilltop in the sun,

His gaze commanding all within its sweep,

His pride gathered round him,

A shield against his enemies,

And he a stronger shield against theirs.

But now his mate of many years

Lies buried in the earth.

His pride has scattered.

And the lion sits alone on the hill.

No one bothers to challenge him now.

He has outlived all his rivals,

And the younger males ignore him.

He sleeps away his days

And dreams away his nights,

And the little hill is all that remains of his kingdom,

Shrinking every day,

His own body become a prison

With locks and bars more unyielding

Than those of any cage.

Soon the lion will sleep his final sleep.

The African night that waits for us all

Will close around him

And all his lore and wisdom will vanish with him

And the wind will whisper through the grass on the hill

That marks his grave.

But we who stood beside the lion will not forget him.

We will miss him and mourn his passing,

For the same hot blood that ran through his veins

Runs through our own

And the same brave heart that thumped in his chest

Thumps in ours too,

As we seek our own hills resplendent in the sun

And lands encompassed only by the limits of our vision.

Well done, we say, old lion. Well done.