lonesome she roams

the nightly prairies

the lioness, pensively.

dust twirls up as she moves

and looks on over your way.

a predator for injustice, incompetence,

in herself as well,

she cannot but stay athletically alert

in times of trouble and turbulence

such as these.

what only the chilly night breeze

and stars up above know

is the she, the lioness, cares much

for peace, equality, kin, the weak.

her energy, force, occasional aggression,

are merely half of the story.

onward she moves, always onward,

called by the seasons and tides,

tending to all that’s there

right in front of her.

fear she knows not

for she’s slept among wolves,

but tenderness she carries

hidden and tucked away

only to unravel it briefly in the shade,

during a rare moment of rest

to make sure it’s still there.

but can something get lost

that’s been the greatest gift

and strongest motivator all along?

she knows the answer

and so, is on her way again.

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