Tell me the name of that beast
The one with the setting sun
And the night’s shadows
Scorched and streaked, upon
The softness of its coat.
That beast, that weaves at dusk
With streamlined elegance,
Undaunted and untamed.
It charges towards the fray,
A number of soldiers at the front lines.
With his canines unleashed,
As Achilles swings the first slash
Of his blade. No stone unturned
And no prey unseized, he is
A hero, but not without a heel.
His claws are that of a predator’s,
An iron-grip on ending the drought.
His eyes are that of a warrior’s,
Remaining a champion, even if his luck runs out.