A field of grass, dull and boring.

One birding chirping, delightful.

Millions is headache inducing.

Each with similar tones of screeching.

A lone flower,

Black, Purple and Blue.

She was not expecting him.

A secret buried inside.

A mind she thought she'd never find

A name linked with death,

Like a lion on the prowl

She was waiting for him,

Although she didn't know it.

The lion speaks,

With wisdom unheard

Although it seems a claw was hurt

More to both than any could know.

The chaotic chirping dies

With naught but his roar

Her petals unfolding,

Showing he inner core.

She never would have guessed,

But here they are.

The lion and the flower.