A Lion's Den in Winter (Stories From The Old Man)

Quickly came the lion, through the leaves,

carving through heavy wood.

By now, you'd have thought he would be good, but oh the lion was not.

Everyday, the lion would scrounge the leavings of day, the scraps of decay,

leaving but the last.

It is the dead of winter, not a soul about,

but still does the lion feel the need to rustle with a snout.

Until one day.

The lion lay in his den, oh so bitter!

But then came a voice, a mere shriek.

Astounded by the burst from the dead, what once was thought of this Winter to be silent,

the lion reeled out of his den.

Before him stood a small bird, so very bright and beautiful.

The lion could not believe his eyes, with all that is dull in the world, he finds this masterpiece before him,

the hidden gem.

The bird led the lion, who need not be led, to see.

To see what the lion had done, what monstrosity, what thievery, he has done.

It was then that the lion knew they must not be gone.

Birds of all kinds, large, small, colored, not.

They chanted the lions name, put him in the midst of the reason, the duty he must obey.

The lions scrounging had left many of life without the life they needed.

The lion thought he must pay heed.

For this, the lion gave and gave, for the birds chirped in harmony, a loving note.

Then were the lion and his friends cheerful, oh they were indeed.

 

 

Author's Note

This is the first story from the old man in "The Bookseller's Stories" story.

Enjoy