Still Wild

For three and a half moons, a box was my home,
I was carried across the sea.
My roars filled the air, unanswered,
Has my pride forgotten me?

My crate is wrenched open to a cold, concrete world,
So different from the land where I ran free.
My meal does not run, just a limp hunk of meat,
Has my prey forgotten me?

The hissing, spitting breeze replaces the gentle one back home.
It buzzes, ever persistent, like the humming of a bee.
The foreign air whisks briskly by,
Has the wind forgotten me?

But in my dreams, I still pursue the kill.
My legs pound after the stray gazelle, claws to paw to knee.
The primal instincts still fuel my soul,
No, the wild has not forgotten me.