Freedom's Spirit

A lion roams beneath the sky so wide,  

With eyes that blaze like embers in the night,  

His mane, a crown, where restless winds confide,  

A symbol born of strength and fearless light.  

He strides through lands where shadows seek to bind,  

Yet breaks their chains with every mighty roar,  

His heart, the pulse of wild and untamed mind,  

A call to those who long for something more.  

The hunters come, with nets and spears in hand,  

But freedom’s spirit cannot be contained;  

For every snare they lay across the land,  

The lion’s pride is ever unrestrained.  

And when his voice resounds across the plain,  

The earth remembers what it means to run—  

For freedom, like the lion’s roar of pain,  

Can never die beneath a setting sun.