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| He stalks in his vivid stripes | |
| The few steps of his cage, | |
| On pads of velvet quiet, | |
| In his quiet rage. |
| He should be lurking in shadow, | |
| Sliding through long grass | |
| On pads of velvet quiet, | |
| Where plump deer pass. |
| He should be snarling around houses | |
| At the jungle’s edge | |
| Baring his white fangs, his claws, | |
| Terrorising the village! |
| But he’s locked in a concrete cell | |
| His strength behind bars, | |
| Stalking the length of his cage, | |
| Ignoring visitors. |
| He hears the last voice at night, | |
| The patrolling cars, | |
| And stares with his brilliant eyes | |
| At the brilliant stars. |
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