the old lion

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Tattered gnarled and beaten
Nothing can dull the sore pain he feels

He once raised his head
High above the grass
And let the stale wind rinse his mane
Golden and thick
It now hosts a grey hue

Respected and feared
Venerated and worshipped
He once stood
And let the grass bow at him
Leaning in his magnificence
Now it only bends under the
Weight of sorrow the lion drags
With every sloppy step

Powerful and fierce
Menacing and woeful
He used to run
Sporting his pugnacious muscles
Waiting for a challenge

The challenge came
And it came fast
Too fast for the great lion
Too fast for the pride
And too fast for bounding step
The lazy yawn and the riveting roar

Those are all gone now
But the lion remains
A shell of what he once was
Waiting for his final challenge to come.





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