The White Lion

Behold a nasty bugger

who downs an albino Lion

a very special fellow

a very unique sign

its because he has the money

and these  evildoers do

the worst things given half the chance

destrictive he right through

it really is outrageous

he be allowed to kill

its all about canned hunting

these  toxics get their thrill

from ending the life of an innocent

with a high powered rifle

he

didn’t have a hope in hell’s chance

to know or even see

ruinous and sinister

a mindset of the  damned

a diablolical conclusion

as a speeding bullet rammed

into the chest of one bold soul

one really perfect Lion

minding his own business

so rendered b the iron

the trauma was intense

it ruptured and it broke

suddenly his sight impared

he was going to choke

ge deteriorated rapidly

gasping for new breath

aware of massive damage

as he walked unto his death

this burden this imposition

this admonishment of  sorts

brought forward a defiance

that savaged  through his thoughts

life was leaving faster

than a storm cloud in the sky

the last sembalance of reason

as he closed his eye

never to re open to re open it

that was  it for good

the canned hunters excited

they realizd they could

approach the beast

and look it over

and pose a deadly pose

whilst other senseless idiots

lifted his bloodied nose

still warm but fast declining

the photo’s taken by

the canned hunting fraternity

whose profit margin high

clearly all are smiling

and the white Lion’s bones will sell

probably as Tiger

the tiger boy from Hell

we have to get inside these

people’s minds

and wonder who

they are and what they are about

and what do they thing they do

killing a healthy speciment

roaming in the green

forest of his ancestors

why were they so mean

this is never huntng

that poor soiuyl stood no chance

in a real enclosure

he hardly could advance

a sort of  open air theatre

a trophy hunters lair

where wretchedness and misery

is the currency all share

such inglorious behaviour

his sensation took the life

with all the harshness

thrown in for good measure

like a knife

cutting through

the flesh and entering

a split second that was all it was

what did the hunter gain

a corpse a white god lying

in a pool of his own blood

a brave boy who’d been full of joy

until that awful thud

and now he lays dead to the world

the hunter man behind

smiling like a cheshire cat

wwith little on its mind

all who note the evidence

are resigned to say

this brutal nasty good for nothing

should be blown away

such an unsightly feelow

disliked by all who see

who feel his vulgar testament

and know where he must be

life’s true domain