Tagomaran

The prince of Tagomara loved the hares,
for when the tiger killed the royal mares
then set upon to spill his precious blood
and joy upon his soil, his clay, his mud,
the pet he treated holy, good, and whole—
dear Anidubu, selfless hero's soul—
distracted from the flesh of Hamayair,
for whom no other worldly recollection
would haunt his heart and bring it to perfection
than seeing Anidubu lead the beast,
in promising a quick and easy feast,
away from where his master cowed in fear
and in the double pupils ever sear
the memory of God: the recollection
of how the silent victim let the world,
the fate and fortune as our God unfurled,
take all its light and legacy away
and let his killer ponder as it may
the weight of such a plain and simple sin
that moved it to confess and grant its kin,
the tigers of the plains that bow to man,
as his apology to Anidubu,
the sweetest thing to ever feel a booboo.