Quick Death it Brings
Within a Bushveld, green and fair
Upon a fancy I stalk within,
I feel a hotbed, cooled by air
I hear a sound come from nowhere.
Inside a riverbed, filled with dust
With brown and yellow, the sun unjust,
On a mound of earth - I cry!
Under the canopy a Lion lies.
Breathing lowly, faint but sure
Moving slowly, and I no more;
I watch as nature surrounds all things
And wonder why quick death it brings.