The Aristocrat

The lion looked at all he saw, Considered now as his, That's why he couldn't ask for more And that filled him with bliss. Aristocratic, yes, indeed, Perhaps a royal, too, And yet determined to succeed, Enough to see things through. The tribal leader on display, On top and in control, But like a man that's known to stray, It's like he's lost his soul. In conflicts borne of wills and skills This lion has no friend, And thoughts of losing give him chills, So he fights to the end. A servant to his bold desires, With scars on show for all, To scare aware the foolish triers Who sought some miracle. A lucky shot, a cruel bite, That's how they planned ahead Yet he'd beat them if they should fight And chase them off instead. Aristocratic though he is, He knows the price he pays, Until the time things go amiss And he must lose his place. He wears the mantle and the crown, For one day at a time, Until another takes him down, He stays there in his prime! Denis Martindale, for the 17th of February 2025. This poem is about the magnificent lion painting The Aristocrat by UK artist Stephen Gayford.