The hyena my betrothed, my wife

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I look at the hyena, that mythical beast,
I look at her fur, such beautiful black,
I look at her as she looks to the moon,
The moon is my love, the hyena, my wife.

I look at my children, terrible creatures of night,
I look to the Lions and Leopards, I'm willing to hide.

I look to the night, it keeps me out of sight (and site).

I look to my woman, a hyena is site.

I ask how I landed here, I ask what I am.
If my children are pure hyena, as is my wife?

And if my friends are vultures,
And my close ones do kill.

I look at the hyena, but the moon is my wife.
And this hyena, which is me,
Though he fears the sun,
He looks, to the moon,
A reflection of light.

The moon is my hyena,
But only at night.

And in daytime, does the hyena alight.
And a swan of beauty, I see my true wife.
In this, the proper light.

Yet, is this but dream, not happened yet,
Which light, is my guide,
In the darkness of life .. ?

Do I worship the moon, or it's light from the son?
If I do love, my cute hyena, shall I worship the sun!

An what is it of you, do you worship the moon, or it's light from the sun?