A Lyon

Lyon Lyon burning bright
In dark woods of scary night
What immortal foot or hand
Could approach you and still stand?

Just how distant, north or south
Burnt that ardor in your mouth?
On what wings could any try?
What hand could touch, foot not fly?

And what arm, what sort of art
Could twist you until you start?
As your brain would start to run,
What hand or foot thought it fun?

What sort of tools? And what chain?
From what kiln could spring thy brain?
What anvil? What looming grasp
Could intimidation clasp?

As a star put down its sword
Crying, calling on its lord,
Did a grin form, watching you?
By a craftsman of lambs, too?

Lyon Lyon burning bright
In dark woods of scary night
What immortal foot or hand
Could approach you and still stand?

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One thought on “A Lyon

  1. […]   Leave a comment Last March I posted this parody of William Blake’s “The Tyger”; changing the Is to Ys in “Lyon” […]

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