Cry of the Wolf

by Colly

His eyes glisten as oil on canvas.

White lid flickers in between.

Twas red sometimes…

Ole boy’s now hunting.

Green blades, will, sway

o’er ferocious hill.

Hush my prey, be still.

This one, staring, roams day or night.

Thick silver shields white chill.

Paws mark his steps…

Can you see him;

Touch, breathe, know his way’s ?

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’s

to help this one stay his course…

through mother’s earth.

(clipart photo)

2 Comments to “Cry of the Wolf”

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