Near an ancient standing
Baobab tree the lion sit
With burning mane
He looks all around but makes no
sounds
In the heart of African plain.
Behind, in the grey and cooling
shade
The rest of the pride is lying
After the kill.
They have eaten their fill
And now sleep a safe sleep of the
lion.
Tomorrow they will awaken,
refresh,
As a new day breaks over the
plain
And they’ll rise
With death on their eyes
To start the hunt over again.
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