The Lioness’ Mane

The Lioness’ Mane,
her pride, her lair.
Those matted, scattered, blitzen hair.

The Lioness’ Mane,
so proud and vain.
She comes and goes,
as if playing a game.

The Lioness’ Mane
then put to shame.
In dread, dirt and dearth
she lain.

The scattered mane- it slowly scats.
Most say it never was,
but we know what the lioness had.

The locks and curls forevermore,
tresses that nurtured lions galore.

© achillesheelpoetry, 2022

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