An old tiger.

An old tiger.

The old tiger in the cage,
gasping and sitting idly,
often licking its paws,
and thinking about his glorious past.

Sometimes he is poked by some nuisance from outside the cage.
Few grimace at him.
Few immmitate his voice.

But he bears the grudges,
with infinite patience.
The first streaks of the sun
and pitch dark night don't appeal him.

He knows his life is ebbing away.
He stands and enters his own cell,
to get sleep on straw mat.
It might be his eternal sleep.