Duty

The silent march of a male wolf, As he scans the field for meat, Is slow like ticking of the clock, The movement of his wide feet. The wolf sees nothing that can harm, So he trots away to search the farm, His vision pierces through the black, The fur does rise upon his back. He climbs the hill at a lope, His mind keeping one small hope, That chickens were left out tonight, So he may eat them if he might. The farmer was weary from baleing hay, He had worked and worked all the day, And he forgot to put his fowl in, And that was the cause of the wolf's visitin'. Creeping so careful he rounded the shed, He saw a great hen with a tucked head, With a swift little pounce, he slayed her he did, And each chicken's life he silently rid. He ate one for himself then grabbed another two, This is just one of these things that wolves do. He ran to his mate as she slept in her den, And presented to her a still warm hen. This is the wolve's duty to do what he might, To bring food to his mate before the light, That is how God created this wild dog, Who can silently stay as still as a log.