The Death of the Wolf
A Poem About What Does Happen Within Our World to the Wolves Today
He moves swiftly through the trees,
His paws make no sound on the leaves.
The birds chirp sweet nothingness,
His light grey eyes glow in the darkness.
He pauses and lifts his snout,
Making sure there is no danger about.
He flicks his ears side to side,
Twitching his nose left and right.
A dog barks not too far away,
The snapping of branches coming his way.
A bang,
A yell,
He feels the sharp pain in his side,
He turns and runs up the cliff-face.
He raises his head to the heathens above,
Praying to the moon, his love.
He bathes in her pale glow,
Waiting for the men to show.
He turns his head and bares his teeth,
The men stand there grinning eerily.
The metal barrel aimed straight ahead,
He tilts his head to the moon and howls one last passionate tune.
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