The Lion of Lake Balaton

Standing strong the lion
Stood on the ice upon the Balaton
Defying the winter chill
As all came to a standstill
And let the white Safari gaze
Hunters out on Winter days
Sighting the mighty king

Its ferocious head
The leader of the lead
The majesty of the ice jungle
Fill the heart, its worlds apart
No more false hunts to bungle

They set out at break of dawn
The ice did creak as if it'd sworn
Under their skates
Their snow boot plates
That trod their mystical way

The hunters walked in single file
Mile after weary mile
The darkness and the cold
The starkness of the white was bold
As the sun climbed into a purple sky

Tinted by a red rose tie
Tinted now they traveled long
Between the feet of Balaton
The ice was deep it sang its song
Mile after mile

Mile after windswept mile
Until they found where the Lions beguile
He hid not from them in their scope
He stood strong like a symbol of hope

They took aim, and he did fall
In a crash that sent up an ice sheet wall
A crack which spread
Was the great beast dead?
Or a figment of imagination
Out on the ice of lake Balaton

He runs there still
Through the winter chill
King of all he surveys
More hunters come in the Midday sun
For long at him to gaze

.....................

The lion bounds across the frozen Balaton
Bound in the breaking ice
And crashing in its warlike eyes
Melting paws
The frozen thaws
Out through heat of life

Out, out beyond the cold stars
Reflected from the sky
The ice abounds while the lions crown
Like a furry Eskimo's hood does fly

From the scope of the hunter's moon
Earning his almost magical skill
To mark his prey, and then to kill
The mystical beast too soon

It leaps beyond the gun
Beyond the glinting rays of the sun
Through the testy fields of ice
The frozen waves
The half crescent eyes
Closed to the pain, the cold
But open to the fame of the bold
He fights for life

He fights, he fights
And yet in their sights
They have him still
Like a hymn sung on a hill
Like a bull caught by the nose
In its advancing raging pose

Now crossing the inebriated plain
He comes close to the edge again
And finds in the twisted bank of reeds
A cover that will suit his needs
He stops to rest
And feels best
His heart's blood bleed
The wound is in his thigh
The bullet nipped, it tripped
And skipped back up into the sky

He sees the jade dawn's birds cluster
And at last his strength does muster
to go on
Stalking on around the edge
The cover of the myrtle hedge

The hunters far across the ice
Have yet to spy him with their eyes
His blood is spent, it drips it screes
In pools that mark him, foot prints with ease
The hunters follow this Hansel trail
Of blood sweets, the end their quarry to take

The leaves they breeze
The end in sight
The slightest sneeze
The burn of the night
The lion sees the lake's bright lights: Balatonfűred
He wanders up the pearly streets
Blood dripping on the marble feet
Staggers then
Lays down to rest
Upon a plinth
There he turns to stone
No more the hunter's bullets him can harm
Only their thoughts to atone
For the Lion of Balaton stands alone