I’m the last, hungry lion.
All the others have feasted and are taking their rest among the tall grass.
Still I run, hunting; chasing.
This most agile gazelle bounds away evermore, eluding my frothy bite.
I shall not give up, succomb to famine’s fate.
The gazelle will tire and I will harness the last of my reserves to pounce.
I will eat to go on. Survive. Thrive.
A feast awaits me.
I am the last, hungry lion.