By John Bliven Morin

People call me “Simba”
Wherever I may go;
I’ll keep my true name secret,
Names are sacred, don’t you know.

I think they call me “Simba”
Because lions are my life;
I take pride in raising lions,
With her sisters and my wife.

The cubs are cute and cuddly,
And I watch them lovingly
Become strong and healthy lions,
In this game park, wild and free.

But even here, the poachers
Sometimes come to take the game,
And they’re not adverse to lions,
When their rifles raise and aim.

Sometimes we do surprise them,
And we kill the bloody bunch;
My family tears them all apart,
And has them all for lunch.

We’re not cannibals, in spite of that,
Not I, my wives and my ‘uns;
We’re just surviving in this world,
A lovely pride of lions!

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