The Lions in Winter

We would pelt the frosty glass
with snowballs to hear their roars
mingle with our shrieks

as we skidded down the slippery
service road certain they were
bounding behind us

escaped from their prison
of quartzite block, barred doors
and windows thick as fists

only to turn around at the far end
with frosty breaths and pounding hearts,
sneak back and pester them again.


Marilyn Aschoff Mellor