Lion and the Lamb


liable to bang inharmoniously
on dusty piano keys,
sing a loud operetta, tie
a ribbon in my hair, tell
a lie, steal a flower, or a
lion from the zoo

catch a ferry
to the quay, munch oysters
and roar in concert with that
toothless, rangy old cat as
we lie on the rocks at Mrs
Macquarie’s Chair, and watch
the sun cast his afternoon salutations
over our golden pelts, and we
wave like royalty to passing

and cast
our crowns
into their wake

© Julie Thorndyke