The Lion's strength is not in it's roar.

Nor does it hide in it's tales of lore.

It lies alone in his noble eyes,

Which only looks at it's lofty prize.

His vision still, focused and calm,

waiting, patient like the dawn.

The lion waits until his moment comes

then he leaps, his mane shining like many suns.

He does not blink or look away

till his prize can only silently lay.

His fierce gaze proudly stares across

at his next prize, who will not be lost.