Crouched beneath the high grass
A gleaming stare peers out
scanning the horizon
planning its move no doubt
In the distance a gazelle roams free
unaware of its impending danger
its every move through the field
gazed upon by a stranger
Anticipation builds
in the predator viewing its prey
he cannot take it any longer
before him sits a buffet
With a leap and a turn
the lion reveals his intent
the gazelle frozen in place
its feet poured in cement
With a ferocious chomp
its neck gushes red
once a vibrant being
now lays dead