Cry of the Wolf



His eyes glisten oiled on canvas.

White lid slides in between.

Deep red pivots glow

as he’s hunting. 

Green blades sway

over a tenacious hill.

Hush my prey, be still.

This one roams day or night.

Thick silver shields white chill.

Paws mark his step’s.

Can you see him;

Touch, breathe, know his ways?

The way’s of the coyote.

The path’s of the fox.

His home is mountainous terrain.

Don’t drain the blood from his vein.

Leave him be; he’s one to be free.

With mother nature by his side.

Nature balanced within

her grasp…

Alas, he is alive,

alive – alive

(echo – echo)

Can anyone help me;

can anyone help me?

Can anyone hear me?

As the cull continues,

some mark their way

to help this one stay his course,

through mother’s earth.


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