Prints march forward two at a time,
Soothingly setting one paw after another,
In a manner so sublime.

“It’s beautiful,” you’d say.
Yet only watch from a distance.
As does his kind,
So he lives a solitary existence.

Beauty admired by all,
Yet he walks alone till he does fall.
Until then he hunts alone.
Elegance trailing him,
As nothing else will.

Watch the trail of the leopard.
Watch it sneak through the grass,
Watch the tracks it leaves behind,
As it runs alone
With not a soul intertwined.
Watch it walk this solitary line.