I Wrote A Poem

I wrote a poem and a wolf took off with it in his mouth.

He ran quickly through trees and across clear river as I tried to catch him.

Up over hill moon shone it’s golden orb.

I stopped upon the hill crest and looked below.

Around fallen logs a wolf pack gathered waiting for their leader.

He came to a stop around them and gently placed my poem upon the ground.

He nudged the creases out and with elderly wise eyes read what I wrote.

He finished; tipped his head and responsed to my poem.

His wordless howling song tugged at me for I had written about love of nature.

He finished his song and looked up to where I was on hill.

He gently took my poem and raced back up the hill.

He stopped inches to where I was and bowed his head towards me.

I nodded to him taking my poem and clutched against my chest.

He turned around and raced back down to his wolf pack.

I stayed the evening and listened to them sing their leader’s song.

It was sweet to my ears to know they loved my poem.

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Young Wolf Rite of Passage

We float like ghost through trees
A blur against white snow deep
Leaving only the barest trail.

Silently we glide our steps onward to the call
The silent words echo only we hear
To start the rite of passage from young to adult.

We are young waiting for elders; it’s our time
We follow in their foot steps, programmed
To learn what happens this night.

We cloak ourselves against the dark
Watching our prize plodding forward
Unaware the doom will follow.

Silent cue we streak forward with gusto
Our prize in alarm flees but a second lost
We bring it down with our jaws.

Elders look please, we have won our right
To belong as one in the pack
We are now no young but adults.