Poor Prisoner in a cage
I understand your rage
And why you loudly roar
Walking that stony floor
Up and down all day
A wild beast for display
Or living in the heat
With sawdust, smells and meat.
Your forest eyes are sad
As wearily you pad
A few yards up and down
A king without a crown
Remembering how you chased
Your jungle prey, and raced
Leaping on their backs
Along the grassy tracks
But you are here instead
Better, perhaps, be dead
Than locked in this dark den;
Forgive us, lion, then
Who did not ever choose,
Our circuses and zoos
Jordan Fuchs
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lion-8/
