A Tiger's Prayer

[Tasmania's least prolific poet ... that's me. Here's a recent one.]

A Tiger's Prayer

Once I fancied I heard your voice, feathered by the wind,
Wordless, or beyond my tin ear to decipher.
Always you were at the edge of sound, the verge of sight
A whisper, a shadow, a plangent absence.

But now I see you pickled in a jar,
My hairless, heirless little fellow worshipper
Head bowed, eyes closed, paws together
And I know that it was your prayer I heard.