Tigers, Tigers around me,
Yellow, Orange, Black they be.
Graceful beauty dwells without,
the stripes, the lean lines they cut out,
a figure swift, a figure fast,
an animal coolest to the last.

As keen and cunning fills their eyes,
they'll pounce, attack with sole surprise,

Falling on their startled prey,
with all the horror, they can slay.

Scratches on your arm, your wrist,
your hurting body lies there kissed,
by Magnificence and surly Might,
their keen their cunning,
their snarl and fight!

August 5, 1970
  By Linda A. Copp ©