Red earth, dry heat,
Warrior steps out,
Crowd claps a rhythmic beat,
King readies for the bout,
Bends low touches the dust,
Straightening out feels the gust,
of wind carrying the smell,
of fresh carcass and the sound of chiming death bell,
Acute senses and steady heart,
Lion comes into thick of things,
Crowd reacts with a start,
To every last ounce of bravery he clings,
What happens after is for another place and another time,
For as of now this wandering poet is out of rhyme.
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