The lion stood there: waiting;
She did not move – she was not dead, but as if turned to stone.
Muscles taut but motionless;
Eyes fiery and alert, unblinking.
And then –
Slowly, very slowly, she began to stalk;
Advancing quietly, reeds parting to let her through.
The power, the focus, the majesty –
She did not doubt that victory would be hers.
But I did not flee; I did not flinch.
For I was safe with my kind –
In the Antelope House.
– Victoria Wood, Age 10