The morning is clear whilst all night it poured
The familiar 5am alarm call of guttural roars
The varied tracks on the path are lit by hurricane lamps
Last night it was not just lions wandering through camp
A cheetah is touched by an early russet sunbeam
Shrouded in mist, is this a Kicheche dream ?
She explodes into life, judging every dip, slip and camber
Her tail a spotted rudder, her eyes blazing amber
Her paw fuses with prey, deep in the grass
A meal for her family that might even last
The cub’s muzzles are crimson, at their breakfast they tear
And three November guests finally come up for air.
Lunch is a treat, the chef has waved his wand
Remembering the three are from far across the pond
So festive fowl and trimmings, brussels with no EU and red sauce
They can still barely speak, the morning has left them hoarse
So Happy Thanksgiving to Martha, Peter and Curly
We don’t mind that you eat turkey a whole month early
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