All I can think about
Is the rumbling.
The alarming roars
Warning me of
What is coming.

A zebra would be
wonderfully delicious
baked, roasted, or barbequed.
The savory smells stimulate salivation,
I can hardly stomach this frustration.

The roars are overtaking
my thoughts. The growling
will not stop. I try to comfort
my beast with a soft caress,
soothingly rubbing my abdomen.

Hungrily I look up and see it,
The feast of feasts.
Along the path on which I walk a Clydesdale treads along.
Tall, hefty, and robust.
My poor stomach is full of lust.

Yes, a horse is what I want.
No, a horse is what I need.
My stomach is shriveling
as we speak, but have no fear
for tonight I’ll dine as king.  

Pepper stuffed hooves
And a pickled horse eye,
oh what a fine delight.
My stomach seemed so empty,
but now you see horse is such a fine delicacy.