The male limps not from the hunt
but from the wet, the cold, and the darkness
of this cellar.
And the loneliness.
And the hunger.
The muscles in his massive frame have
decayed, but his teeth, though locked,
are still deadly.
He looks at me with fear,
as if I am the one with the sword
who shut his mouth.
The females watch me with hatred.
They circle around me waiting for
the word of release that will not come
as long as I am here.
The lighted warrior of my LORD
looked me in the eyes
as he shut their mouths.
And I heard the words: "Fear not."
So I did not.
The male is no longer afraid of me,
or if he is, he has submitted
to me rather than his fear.
He just lay down at my feet.
I am tired.
There's not much to do in a den.
What's to keep
me from laying my head
in his golden mane?
It is softer than my pillow.
Why not rest?
While I wait for morning's mercies,
I will sleep.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CkZ8kOMWTdI
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