Poetic Narrative:

With parched lips and a sandy brow,

He dips his head in a bow.

To quench this thirst he takes a risk,

For in the wilderness, danger, it does persist.

The dry winds blow,

Causing ripples in the river below.

Should I stay?

Or should I go?

Was that shadow there before the winds came low?

I have had my sip and quenched my lip,

I must go before I take an unwanted dip.

As I move on, the winds they change,

Now blowing over that grassy range.

I fix my gaze upon those golden blades,

For the smell that drifts reminded me of times I ran in craze.

I keep alert as the leader of my herd,

Could this smell be an early night or just a bird?

These tapered tops have grown of age,

I’ll sound the call, so we may live to see another page.

For with each day,

As the sun and moonlight glow,

My experiences teach and cause my senses to grow.

To stand tall,

To wait and listen,

It is my adrenaline’s kick that still allows my eyes to glisten.

The wind, which carries these scents and sounds,

Is what may keep us above the grounds.

©Mahdhav Sarna