Slumber is a word for lions
with their heavy paws that serve as pillows,
supporting their massive heads, tired
from hunting, or ruling, but most likely
tuckered out from last night's bacchanalia of the beasts.
A toppled glass of wine lies near
the party's handsomest reveler, who's golden mane is soaking up
the ruddy liquid. His pointed party hat
still in place, the white elastic straining
but holding firm around his chin.

If only the zebras could see him now,
powerfully harmless baby, quieter
than a lone adolescent antelope quivering
in the tall grass, and more serene
than a lilac-breasted roller floating
on a warm current of air, displaying
his pink chest to all those below. They would laugh
and come to understand that the hierarchy of nature
isn't founded on reason, but on humor.