In woods of life a lion there so dwells,
A lion mortal men dost truly know,
All animals and birds of strangest dales,
For whiter than snow robes his heart doth glow.
His love not of here but of heaven's sphere,
For like as stars of yore and now sleeps last,
His cab's prey he must rummage here and there
Yet like as sun of yore and now wakes first:
His cabs in glee, the cynosure of all
Hence would as lief hunt through the darkest moor,
The entire shadowy un-trodden vale
To dress his cabs in joy-robes evermore.
Hark! If this be no lion but rather
An angel proud I am to call mother.
Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angeles, California.
11/20th/2018.
#Shakespearean sonnet
#Been penning this poem since yesteryear
Unto my dear mother and all mothers of that nature out there.
Honestly, I grew up destitute in the ruins of Kampala, Uganda, but there's one hero by the name, Nalugo Florence, she whom I'll keep in the bower of my heart forevermore for turning all my days to hues of gold from her toiling. A hero most gladly I call mother.