And who's to the heart of a lion,
broken to ashes in piles?
And to ashes it goes away,
weighed down in burden to smiles.
Who is to a lion of feathers,
of broken wings in upheaval?
Ashes to the ashes pouring,
with them long gone good and evil.
Who is to a lion in distress,
confused, in bravery and will?
Ashes by the ashes survive,
and so is his heart remains still.
Who is there to be for a lion,
in love with a bougainvillea?
Like ashes, its blooms are shining,
and in its thorns lies hysteria.
Who is to a heart of a lion,
washed clean in tears of its own sins?
To ashes, burns before the eyes,
and down bearing on fainting grins.
For a lion, How Man befriends still,
a beast in look for a heart still?
But to ashes, his ashes go,
his heart sleeping in peace, it will.