From four corners will gather four lions
In space contrived by harsh seasons
The mother of the lost shall cease her angst
A convergence in warm soil
The quatrain parallels an experience I had in a third world country many years ago when I was thrown in prison for some trumped up charges. It was in the wee hours when I finally arrived at the cell and found three detainees in three corners of the prison. One had been charged with lewd conduct and his white t-shirt was still drenched in red wine that a woman had doused him. He looked like a bloody lion after feasting on a prey. Another man had been in a fight and had lost two of his front teeth. Every time he opened his mouth two long k-9’s would protrude approximating the fangs of a lion. The other hulking gentleman was simply inconsolable and was crying non-stop, howling in despair – not like a lion but, rather, like a coyote.
Forgetting I was no longer a spring chicken, the Tequila and Cervesa shooters that I had taken the night before to impress a couple of muchachas had left me pumpkin smashed like a college frat kid. It took a while before I had lost that groggy – get a Dramamine quick - feeling. All that time, I thought that I was in the company of a trio named Veni, Vedi and Vici. When in fact their names were Benny, Bunny and Benji. Off course, the crying man’s name was Bunny.
The quatrain seems to warn us not to do anything that will land us in jail. If you want to see wild animals, go to the zoo instead.
Analyst 147X
