Bison moseyed nonchalantly huge
among our tents, hushing with awe,
on their way down to the Yellowstone
to drink in saffron, morning light.
The kids, dumbstruck, pointed in glee
as one mountainous beast halted
and glared; signing with oracle eyes:
“Today I will be your token beast.
Tomorrow you will be mine; locked
in amber, stone and layered time.
I will hoove your useless remains;
eating grasses from cranial urns
recalling nothing of your holocaust.”
Can beast, once a coveted commodity
slaughtered for trophy, flesh or skin,
mimic disdain? I know I saw it there.
Guilt mandates we heap self-accolades
for our forbearance against a token few
free, yet still, goods for our pleasure.
Will we be allotted a token few to roam?
Belated Words 
Love to have a comment!