The cheetah's walking. Dry leaves answer

to its feet, but they don't cry.

Preys are hiding, fear the dancer

of the prairies. Cranes fly by.

The cheetah stops. And now, it's running.

Runs as if there was no weight,

nor absolutely nothing. Stunning?

Is it god? The truth? The fate?

The prey has no time. No films passing

in front of its sleepy eyes.

Days have gone without the cheetah

finding food. And now the skies

Open as they see it eating,

devoring what the day has brought:

contentedness and joy are meeting

in our cheetah's heart and thought.

I think: Yes! Now! The perfect time,

So it seems, just t' have a word:

we can ask it: would you rhyme?

If yes, what rhyme is your preferred

one? And slowly speaks the cheetah:

I love apples...Manzanita?