Trouble In The Breeze

 
Born and raised in a violent haze
A desperate battle for survival
His brothers and sisters were young but they all knew
their father saw them not as kin but as his rivals
Just a cub when he felt a snub
forced to roam alone
His skills still weak it looked so bleak
for this cub that’s all skin and bone

A boy no more as he stands assured
with his scars and mighty mane
He’s big and bold like Egyptian gold
not a fear in his head that’s remained
First he feeds then spreads his seed
To admire how his pride has grown
but others lurk and are hard at work
to sit upon his thrown

On this hill he stood to watch the flood
each time he roars at the storm
but his roar sounds old for such a land he holds
and his teeth are all but worn
It’s not so rare to see the plains this bare
when there’s trouble in the breeze
This old cat knows life comes and goes
as his enemy emerges from the trees

Broken and beaten forced to roam once more
This old boys days are numbered,
 death waits for him at every door
Scavenging to appease his hunger
he longs for one more feast
The vultures circle round
once a mighty lion
now a cold dead beast