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.