![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS02meYx2Lh9262sw1dwWYCGgjr-gkGNvcqcg4HHvROwABBbRL8jsB7_uRSniPYOB0MQyNia252mmdVmmBZzko0kMLp8krYYN1oMJobbCwnl7DgZsmqh_RyZ_NWa0MCILrc5c3iIb3oY8_/s400/White+tiger+1.jpg)
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