Narrative

A lonely leopard held
my life upon its head,

His wife, the seldom
angry waterfowl, carefully
instructed me to let
him rest three times a day
"He won't tell you when
he's tired, such silliness
in men."

Then,
An feathery voice
in whispers said,
"This way,"
and led us westward
through the woods
we'd gone through
ten times, ten!

Overhead the bird
who whispered
chirped departure,
flew back east,
and had led us
to a burial ground.

One grave stood
so high.

In it inscribed,
was this:

We all were born,
We all will die,
The old were children once,
The lives we lived
grow down, alas,
and return unto the dust.