Biting Remarks may be Rewarded in Kind
Do not call me a scaredy cat or other catty names;
Don’t have a cow, but I refuse to buy into your games
Of calling me bull-headed, big fat cow, a silly goose,
Or loosey-goosey, bird-brained, or a dumb sheep. What the deuce
Do you think you are doing? For—sheepish as I may be—
I’m not so woolly-minded as your image is of me,
And once you’ve riled me up enough with childishness so tryin’,
I may just turn around and bite you hard, and I ain’t lion.
Sunset over the Serengeti & a Slight Belch from the King of the Beasts
It happens sometimes on the plains, where Splendid Starlings and the strains
Tok-tokkie knocks create a song that’s just as rhythmic as it’s long,
Where Shongololo rolls and runs ‘tween rise and setting of the suns,
Where the hyenas sing their tunes betwixt midnight and morning’s moons:
It’s there the leopard’s race was lost–surprise–at noon, and at great cost,
To one old lion whose good luck dovetailed with leopards run amok,
To the degree that one loud crunch announced the end of it at lunch.
Art-Colored Glasses 