Warrior of sorts, scarred and feral,
no reverse, in offence he stares,
he stares, and he stares….
Blink or shy away, not,
for he remains, fixed glare all so mean,
he guards for intruders, no danger seen
Battle weary, aged foe,
no one’s coming near, distance sought,
time to stare, for he stares, he stares…..
Seeking warmth closing gentle eyes,
sleep appropriates life serene,
sight and sound alarms the scents, of where no stranger comes between.
© Nick Hawkins, 4-4-16, all rights reserved.