THE BIRTH OF A LION

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This rain must quench the sun
This sun shall fry in fury his fingers before it pokes
the earth
The tussle is futile; no winner
This rain will not quench the sun
The sun cannot stop his wet fingers
From probing the waiting earth

The winner has not come
So it rained
It rained on the moon
And made runnels
This made streams
Which flows across the face of the sun
And cannot quench the sun
For he shone still

It rained cougars, foxes and zebra
And silent seas flow from their scared eyes
As they scampered
Ducking under thickets

It rained in the sun

The queen labors
Her cries were fierce
And all in flight or fright
Was still and quiet or numb
It rained on the sun
For a king is being borne.

The winner is now here.

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