A tiger lived
here once; how hard to hunt His supper must have been in these
dry sticks, Old mountains going bald behind the town.
Beware the
tiger, watch his yellow eyes, they whispered To the the lads who
wandered careless, calling lovers In the trails of frosty night;
but the spirits of these hills Lost their hold on tiger's heart,
nor could he crave bland tastes, Gagged at battery fed babies,
pompous in nylon socks. His supple coat of gold and black Seemed gauche amid the
concrete girders of new times.
So ancient
powers departed one by one, and when we woke The streets were
safe but dull; our clockwork hearts Had learned to tell the
hours, yet could not sense the tiger in the night.
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