the wind howls,
a roaring lion
taking the storm by its throat
shakes it mane
a wild head tossing
to and fro
its eyes a brilliant flash in the moonlight
the lightning sparkling from its eyes
flung out,
its tattered mane scatters rain splashes down
agonising roaring fills my ears
as it screams into the wind
venting its fury at the inconsistency
of life
only yesterday it was young and proud
today it no longer prowls the plains
but lies dying,
its last breath roaring out
its fear grips as it is breathes its last
and the man comes.
