Brute

In the hush of dawn, a brute awakes,
Muscles coiled like spring‑tight rope,
His breath a low, relentless rumble—
Earth trembles where his footsteps gape.

He roams the moor, a savage grace,
Eyes aflame with primal fire,
Each stride a drumbeat on the heath,
Nature bends to his desire.

Yet in the quiet of the night,
When stars drape silver over stone,
The brute recalls a softer pulse—
A heartbeat faint, almost unknown.

For strength is not alone in roar,
But in the tender, hidden core,
Where kindness lurks beneath the hide,
And gentleness walks side by side.

So let the world recall his name—
Not merely force, but heart’s own flame,
A brute whose might is matched by grace,
A noble soul in rugged space.