You are the lion tamer.

The lion is watching you closely, waiting for you to move.

He is smarter then you.

But he is not stronger.

You are.

You are yet the stronger one in this fight; you are the one with the weapon.

But the lion can still beat you.

He has sharp teeth that can rip you apart.

He can roar and deafen you.

He could still win.

All you have is a whip.

And he has sharp objects that can maul you.

Now, look at me.

I am said lion.

I can look you in the eye.

I can be scared of you and your whip.

I can crawl back into my cave and hide.

Or I can go out and claw you to death.

You could win against me, though.

You have a whip.

You have two legs, and you are smaller then me.

I am bulky.

I can't turn on a dime without possibly falling on my side.

And my mane will scratch against my skin.

Your hair can keep itself away from your face and skin, not irritate you.

Now look at the person off to the side.

He admires you.

He wants you to win this fight.

You want to win this fight.

I want to win this fight.

He calls your name.

I roar my threats.

You give a war cry, ready to fight me.

Now, look to your other side.

That lioness in mine.

My lioness.

I'm fighting for my lioness.

You've tamed her enough already.

She's tired of being whipped around.

I roar again.

You give your war cry.

We run towards each other.

You're the stupid Danish man that challenged me.

I'm the smarter Swedish lion.

You're audience is a Nordic man.

My pride is a Finnish man.

You're keeping us here, taming us as much as you want to for the amusement of an invisible circus audience.

I open my mouth to take your head in it.

I jump up to your height.

You fall back, swinging your whip at me.

It hits my face, I retreat back to shake away the sting.

You run after me again, whip swinging around your head as you aim to hit my back.

I jump around instead, getting behind you and pouncing on your back.

You fall down under my weight, cursing in Danish.

I roar in your face, lifting up my paw to swipe you.

And I do just that.

Your face is now scared

I roar at you again, lifting up my other paw to attack you.

You manage to free the arm that holds your whip.

You make it cut my chest, the chest that I hold out proudly whenever I win battles.

I get off you in pain.

You laugh in triumph, thinking that you have me where you want me.

You mercilessly hit me with your weapon countless times, my muscular body is cut and I am bleeding to death.

My lioness attacks you.

She brings her claws across your face, so you are scar faced both ways.

And then your audience gasps at you.

He runs forward, knife at the ready.

He is going to kill my lioness.

I won't let that happen.

I attack him, because he ran by me.

I catch his foot, and he falls, knife flying out of his hand.

I scratch his back like you did mine.

My lioness keeps attacking you, scarring your face and back.

You cry out for him to leave you alone, that this is a fight between you and me.

Your audience is apologized to.

He is given to his brother

The hospital.

I go to attack you again,

You just struck my lioness across his pretty face.

I hate you even more for it.

I jump on you again.

You fall down, for I weigh more then you.

But somehow your whip manages to cut my front leg.

I ignore it, mauling you a little bit before I hear my lioness call my name.

He is being attacked by your audience.

And the hospital.

I ditch you to save my only lioness.

You flip on your stomach, flicking your whip out after me.

It catches my hind leg.

It cuts it.

I am limping.

My lioness knows I can't help him.

He fights away the hospital.

He fights away the audience.

With one swing of an axe that was on the wall.

Your axe.

Your axe that you didn't use.

You didn't want to kill me.

You just wanted me to obey you.

But now this circus has gone out of control.

I run back towards you, my own axe I have grabbed from where I keep it hidden.

I won't tell you.

I manage to hit you in the head with the butt of it.

You fall, cursing in Danish.

I drop the weapon from my mouth, turning to see if there's anything else that needs to be taken care of.

You get up quickly, sneaking up behind me.

My lioness sees you, but not me.

He grabs my axe.

And it becomes lodged in your back.

You howl in pain.

But you manage to keep fighting.

Somehow.

You throw your whip at me again.

I am wounded again.

My lioness calls my name.

I curse at you in Swedish.

Because I want to win.

And you are going to lose.

Because you have an axe in your back.

And you are losing blood like crazy.

I attack you one last time, pounce on you like you are my prey.

You fall on your stomach.

The hospital rushes over.

His brother, the audience, follows.

My lioness and I run away.

With a dog.

You call after me your promise for revenge.

It is years later now.

You haven't gotten your revenge.

I am a proud lion.

I have a lioness.

I have a cub.

You only have your axe.

And your husband.

Norway.

I have my lioness, who you tried to take away from me one year after I fought you.

You have the hospital, ready to run you for medical emergency.

Iceland.

I am the proud lion, that holds my chest out, with the scars that you gave me proving that I won the fight.

I am the lion

You are the lion tamer.

You are Denmark.

I was the uncontrollable lion.

My son looks to me as a role model.

My lioness looks to me as a lover.

Norway and Iceland see me as a threat.

You see me as someone you have yet to tame.

I am the lion that ruined your circus.

I am the lion that gave you the obvious wounds.

Who fought for his lioness when he was taken by the mad Russian winter.

Who fought you when you came to take him away after I won him back.

Who kept on glaring at you whenever we had to go to a meeting together.

I keep them by my side.

Peter.

Tino.

And I keep you closer.

Denmark.

Because I am the lion that laughs at your stupidity.

I am the untamable lion.

Berwald.

"Dad, hey Dad, read me that poem again!"

"Wh't poem?"

"The poem about the Lion Tamer and the Lion."

"F'r wh't reason?"

"Let him hear it again, Su-San."

"M'kay, m'wife."

"Wait... is Mama the lioness?"

"Listen and you'll see."

**Hey there! So something needed to be done here - who compares Berwald to a lion? I do! So, I typed this up, hopefully it'll make up for not having my 15 other projects upstaed ^^; anyway, I hope the point of the poem was clear. I runs away now. Bai.**