His roar of pain could still be heard across the jungle plains
Pursued by the ignoble poachers his strength is waning
They’d taken his mother, her life for their illicit gains
Do you remember those days we spent in the meadow behind our little house? They are so clear to me. We would open the door as soon as the sun’s rays brought a glow to the kitchen wall; turn out heads and wait for Mother to give her smiling nod of approval and then we were off! We would try to catch the little motes that winked at us in the summer light and turn cartwheels for the sheer pleasure of being upside down. Do you remember?