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Through the horizon a lion swims

where fish and oxygen intertwine.

His heart is a man.  The sunlight dims.

His mane is soaked at the top of his spine.

Outside of the river, he steps on shore

What were once his paws he spells out a sign

and they spell out words to tell a lore.

‘A drought in the past, the bones of the few

what was golden and green was something more

the air was more than where birds flew,

but something that powered immortal whims

and the sunsets where, what lion’s drew.’