The Lion the Diplomat, and the Fox

Within a wood where Lion held the crown,
A brutal neighbor brought the forests down.
The sovereign Bear, with fury, iron, and stone,
Marched on the woods to shake the royal throne.
Yet, when the Owls would hoot their midnight cry:
«Beware! Tomorrow bombs will tear the sky!»
The monarch’s palace was deserted quite;
The King was nowhere to be found that night.

Our noble Lion, tucking in his tail,
Would hoist his trunk and hit the foreign trail.
To build a «bridge of peace,» he proudly claimed,
While at his subjects, deadly rocks were aimed.
Safe at the Peacock’s plush and grand estate,
The fleeing King would feast on honey, late.
He wept false tears: «Oh, cruel, bitter part!
My jungle flock, you’re always in my heart!»

The Fox, his sharp adviser, watched the game,
And saw the hidden truth behind the shame.
While Lion drank, oblivious to the dread,
A smoky cloud of ash and fire spread.
The Fox then whispered: «Sire, pray, awake!
The woods cry out that you’re a coward, fake!
You left the pack to hide your royal skin,
To toast in safety while the wars begin.»

The Lion roared: «Be silent, foolish beast!
I guard the Crown, my person, and the East!
My foreign journeys are a grand design;
I leave the land because its love is mine!»

But fate arrived, the darkest hour loomed,
The enemy advanced, the woods were doomed.
The Lion cried: «I must depart once more!
An urgent visit to the Elephant’s shore!»
But lo! The Wolves—his personal elite—
Blocked up the iron gates to block retreat.

«Where to, escapee? Naught can be restored,»
The Wolf commander growled and drew his sword.
«No longer shall we open up the gate
To him who left his people to their fate!»

«How dare you?! I am King by sacred right!»
The Lion bared his teeth, prepared to smite.
But Wolf replied: «A hollow shell you are,
Who fled the smoke and watched us from afar.
You chased your comfort while our homes were burned;
Your words are cheap, your title overturned!»

They locked the coward in a dungeon deep,
And through the lines that night, the foe did creep.
The King, who once was glorious and grand,
Met shameful ruin at the victor’s hand.

The Moral:
If born a Lion, meant to lead the pack,
When storms arise, you never turn your back.
A coward on the throne is ruin’s start;
He tears the faith of every loyal heart.
For he who shares the feast but flees the fight
Will lose his crown and perish in the night.

Last Updated on 28.10.2026 by iskova