My yard's an African plain
Dotted with lion mane,
Out back I see them hunt,
They even prowl out front...
Their jagged jaws
Are open and hungry drawn,
Their leonine maws,
Upon my grassy lawn...
Then, as if o'ernight
Each yellow fur,
Turns wizened and white,
A puff without a purr...
And then this fluff of white,
Is shed, and falls to alight
Or drifts in airy flight...
And you can say, if you will,
You see them stalking still...
Its as if they've taken root
And in the grass stay put...
This pride, they seem to say:
Lo, this little beast,
Upon thy lawn will feast
And live on to another day!
— John Riedell
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Site Last Updated on 02/24/05