Like the lionness, I crave a good fight,
one with family stamped into each blade
of grass, sharper than my white as milk teeth.
The pain to protect is fierce like feminism,
climbing up any tree planted by man,
claws digging into the bark like jackhammers.
The children, my precious cubs, roll in my paws,
I watch them show teeth I don't want them to use.
A good fight is always prey over the cubs.
Like a good lionness, I rule like a king.