“The Winter Wolf”

Tip toeing
and slowly going
the hunter arrives.

Slow breathing
with fangs teething
quietly the prey lies.

The wood at night
and only the moon’s light
makes for no fun.

Cold nips at their face
tracks left without trace.
Must remember how to run.

For the wind, one ear
the other for anything else near
the wolf shall wait.

The hunter knows no place,
tracking his victims case
by case, guided by fate.

Then, they see each other.
Willed by our Earth mother
in playing this game again.

With each year’s going
the seasons’ sowing
the fight animal and humane.

The wolf growls
and the hunters bows,
hitching the arrow.

The wolf leaps
and the hunter reaps
the last of winter’s sorrow.

Blood on the snow
melts red and slow
So spring will return
once more.