The Girl With The Lion Mane

The girl with the lion mane

Unsuited, others would say

For the roar

that dwelt within

She learnt to hold in

Swallowed whole

Golden and groomed

Was all that remained

She thought of the lion 

less and less

And the lion grew weary 

To suck in its breath

From time to time, 

A thin growl would escape

The girl felt sad

That lion might break

So she let the roar resound and shake

In the hallow of her form 

Its voice restored

Bolder than before 

She embraced the lion’s roar

More and more

And listened less 

to other’s uproar

For the lion, she recognized

Was from the depths of her core

Embodying the echoes of those

Who have gone before

Enwrapping her with tales

Of women with lion manes

Thick and wild hairs stretching upwards

And a roar that courses through their veins