Final Comfort

By Ken Fan 

A hurried gale，

From deep in the woods,

Sends shudders to all, 

A menacing pause...

All of a sudden, 

He's up there,

Like a sculpture,

Standing tall. 

Noiseless, 

Motionless, 

Surveys the terf,

And sizes up his prey

By the waterfall.

Crouch, then leap. 

So high and ferocious, 

Once again 

A terrifying gale... 

Only this time, 

He misses, by merely an inch, 

To his dismay. 

Such a humiliation 

That has never happened before.

A thunderous roar towards the sky:

-- I am old... 

What an annoying connotation! 

He shakes his giant head and torso violently ...

Where the prey has treaded, 

A tiny blossom catches his eyes, 

-- Here you are again!

A pinkish fragility

Still sheepishly permeats some sweetness in the air. 

-- The last pretty thing, 

    how could you survive in a jungle like this... ? 

A strange empathy strikes him for the first time. 

He lies down by her side, 

-- I'm here, 

    No one would dare to trample on you again! 

   ... But, I'm feeling tired,

   and need a nap, 

   Maybe a very, very long one...