Lynx Cub

The lynx cub smirked just like a cat That once I used to own, With turned up smile it calmly sat Content to pause alone... With golden eyes and golden nose It seemed to sense its worth, But even beauty has its foes When hunters prowl this Earth... A prized possession, nothing more? A conversation piece? A fashioned fur some might adore, As if a golden fleece? Gone forever or maybe stuffed, Its head upon a wall, A trophy of this lynx unloved, A story to recall... Each life must have its numbered days, Yet trappers pay no heed, To such as these there's no disgrace To see this creature bleed... Endangered creatures here and there, Pot luck each day to live, But much less hope if we don't care, A second chance to give... Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2015. The poem is based on the magnificent wildlife painting by Stephen Gayford nb Google-search gayfordgallery and 'Stephen Gayford poetry'.