The Wolves

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).