King.

With head lowered he drags paws across barren ground.
Matted fur once a blazing gold is a dull brown.
Beads of water flick off the end of his once majestic muzzle.
Battle scars point to sunken eyes set deep into a hard skull.
A bony back winds it’s way down to a mangled tail.
Each step jostles skin on fragile bone framework.
Causing an earthquake of the self with each step.
Grey eyes peer beneath sinking eyelids at the passing earth.
Dry mouth houses now blunted teeth.
Breath heavy grinds at the cold air.
Paws rough as course stone have claws like the thorns of yesterday’s roses.
Each rib stands out to attention to guard a heart that beats too long.
Ears flick at flies that pick the dead off the still alive.
Let sleeping lions lie.

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