By Roger G McDonald
And then it comes; and though you’ve heard before,
the shock of nearness echoes in your chest—
the ultimate percussion. Lions roar,
of course they do, but not so they arrest
your heart. Courage is rapidly undressed.
‘A lone male. Pretty big. A hundred yards.’
Our Quatermain directs a knowing brow.
‘He won’t attack.’ Our faith lies round in shards.
Is this for real? ‘We’ll watch him anyhow.
He’s telling us to leave. We will. Just now.’
(to be continued)