The lions stalk in the heart of the night.
They come, slipping across the grassland like
liquid gold, pausing to sniff the pungent
night air, keen to follow the scent
of flesh and to explore the firelight
reflecting yellow off large boulders
surrounding the nocturnal watering hole.
Just as sleep wraps her soft arms
around weary travelers, a twig cracks,
leaves dried crisp in the savanna sun
rustle while soft shadows dance on the
canvas tent wall.
There is no mistaking.
A sniffing, deep throated rumble
defines the reality.
Danger walks through
the night.
Death is close by.
Be silent.
Do not move.
Wait