Below the single tree in the grassland
A lion pack, sleeping silently
Until the sunlight appears
Through the holes between the trembling branches
Morning arrives, and the pack begins its hunt
One lady lion, though, lies still in the shade
She refuses to wake and face the day
Her motivation deprived by an unstable state of mind
As a cub who once loved the flowers
The breeze of fresh air, the smell of the cherries
That hung from these trembling branches
Lady lion, though, feels nothing similar to cubhood
Her only wish is serenity
Sadness boiling inside
No place to tear free
One may wonder
Why not tell the story of the innocent young bird
Who is too afraid to fly?
Why not end a story with the bird
Who peacefully achieves her goal?
The story, then, would be false
Furnished in flowers
Covered in frosting
A beautifully crafted mask
Hiding the secrets
Which sting her mind
No concrete explanation
Only a feeling of sadness
That will stay hidden.