I've been rearranging some stuff in my room due to the recent renovating that started while I was at The Well's Refresh Retreat the weekend before last, and I came across this poem I wrote when I was seventeen, and studying Language Arts Through British Literature, including poetry, for my junior/senior year of high school. Add to this not terribly shocking discovery my recent promise to post a new blog soon, and I give you, without further ado:
The Wolves
They sing! They dance!
With regal stance
They run through woods so still
And prance and play
And still they stay
Rulers of the wooded hills
Over hill and over dale
They follow prey whose scent is stale
Till suddenly, a scout, she howls--
Her voice is taut
The scent is caught!
Their only competition owls
The hunt is silent
The kill is violent
The chase a wondrous thrill
The pups all drool
But know the rule
No food till Father's had his fill
The pack moves on
And though the sun
Is strong, the wind is bitter cold
Their camp they pick
Their coats are thick
All are warm, even the old
The snow is white
The night is bright
Overhead the moon is full
The stars the glitter
A small child shivers
Even from town he hears the call--
A scout has found
A thing profound--
A lame and wounded moose alone
The pack moves out
The cubs they pout
They're left behind with just some bones
And a sentinel
Their stomachs rumble
It's past time for a fresh-caught feast
The hunting slow
Because the snow
Has made grass rare to say the least
The elk and deer
And the moose queer
Faced with a dilemma real
Search on for food
Chased on by doom
To find or to become a meal
Alas! the wolves
Who ruled these woods
(Like royalty on high they reigned!)
Rule them no more
And from them were torn
By Man, over whom he let Fear reign
"And that's all I have to say about that." Aptly put, Forrest (teehee! No pun intended).
