The Lion

Among the throng of nature’s mass, 

Do I, oft’ times, in manner ally—
A countenance of solemn wrath,
His tongue projects a noble cry. 

Crowned by mane of fiery complexion, 

His frame as nimble as austere, 

Stirring in me, untamed affection
Of courage which quells all fear. 

Terror, for some, this beast evokes.
As deaf to spirit as to sound—
They’d rather live as idle buffalo
Than greet danger, where life abounds. 

     Too simple to simply tune in 

     To the rousing roar of the lion.