The Watering Hole

Narrowed eyes, In grass, disguised, The lion licks his lips.

Aware, alert, Gazelles tap dirt As they take cautious sips.

The lion, crouched, Awaits the pounce That brings him to his prey.

With muscles tense, In thickets dense, He dawdles, daring fate.

But then, the jump; Like piston pump, The lion roars his thunder.

With flashing teeth, Escape is brief And flesh is torn asunder.

The ones who flee— The escapees— With fear, like fire burning,

From here on know This wat’ring hole Is deadly for returning.