by Mary E. Lowd
Gold and gleaming
This raptor is scheming
To rule the jungle
With an iron fist
And a silver-edged blade
It must be said
She stayed her axe
—delaying the struggle—
For as long as any brontosaurus
Could have possibly asked
But the rising chorus
Of those who’d bask
In her tortuous relapse
To another ruinous collapse
—mere plant-eaters
Dull of claw and tooth—
Demands that she stands
Axe in hand, armor on her back
Resplendent in her gold bands
The jungle is hers to command