Simba In Winter
As sure as there are mouths within mouths he will hunt later than wished and scraps for all if he gets lucky A growling warmth and a growing brightness bathed in the auspices the elder curls as felines have always curled even though lookout is no longer covered by even a lone sentry the old man’s royal eyes already half masting it beneath the day’s first photons tired now as they had opened hours before in the dark surveys the savannah before sunrise he thinks old lions weren’t meant for this.
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