softly the old wolf whimpers as he dreams
vaguely remembering hunting long ago
racing over hillsides, splashing through the streams
running in the rain, plunging into snow
seizing prey in triumph as he hears their screams
never fighting nature, going with the flow
life no longer what it was, nothing left but dreams.
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Aut insanit homo, aut versus facit
About Me
- Esav Benyamin
- URBAN POET is a place for my poetry and other bitter comments on the human experience, with occasional contributions from friends.
1 comment:
Mother Wolf remembers too
Memories the fall wind brings
As fresh blood rides within its gusts
Muted the journey clasped in the breeze
Drops like dew as the cub howls and feasts
Instilling warrior spirits into the new beast
Who teases and nibbles while mother sings
Soft and tender “Antebellum” cusps
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