The lion is a fearsome thing, God
wot,
With claws and jaws and teeth - an
awful lot;
He’s mangy, rather, if you see him
close,
But not at all inclined to be
verbose
When sneaking up and pouncing from
behind -
Behaviour that is certainly
unkind.
White Lions are a more enchanting
bunch
Who only cut their teeth on verbal
lunch,
Chewing over words or rhyming
schemes
And sinking claws in literary
themes;
If critical, they seldom really
pounce -
The most they manage is a gentle
bounce.
Admire the lions in the national
park
But give me, please, a white one
after dark!
(April,
1990)
The Valley Poets meet in the White
Lion, Upton-on-Severn, monthly.
