The Reflection

In the coolness of a morning
My sweet cubs come to drink
And ~
They see themselves as I was
Recognizing the reflection

I am rare and some would seek me
For trophy’s gain and outer beauty ~

In jungle brush and flowered tree
They make-believe it is my duty ~

To stand and roar but never flee
For the shot that rings incessantly ~

And takes me down
Where my cubs mourn
Until ~
In the coolness of a morning
My sweet cubs come to drink
And ~
They see themselves as I was
Recognizing the reflection

Morning Forest (reposted)

On mountain morn I watched the light
The sun arose with awesome flight
Across the snow, rays fell in lines
Creating trees that looked divine.

The sky was red, then turned to pinks
The fog did flirt with several winks
A line of green did peek and leave
A sight so rare, I now believe.

The bitter cold against my face
I longed return to warmer place
I sketched the sky and then the sun
Included trees and I was done.

Arriving home I warmed my hands
To paint the scene of lovely land
When I was done the painting showed
An early sun with beauty glowed.



(Painting and poem by dcrelief.)