Canis Lupus
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I'd been watching him for years, (black as coal),
Almost two decades now, an extraordinary age for a wolf ...
Every full moon, and only then, he came to the clifftops.
To howl? Yes, to howl ... certainly that, for his voice was majestic,
But it was far more than just a howl, it was a cry ... a sad, mournful weep,
Torn from the depths of his sorrow, and cast in hatred at the moon.
He'd lost his mate there, you see, a beautiful she-wolf ...
Eyes like tanzanite, with a thick, shaggy coat the color of sea foam.
I had witnessed it myself, all those years ago, under a full, blood moon ...
They had been playing in the long grass at the top of the cliffs,
And a gust of wind had swept her off the edge ... and into the sea.
Now, he howled, and he would howl until the moon ... was no more.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Wolves and the Moon" Poetry Contest, Julia Ward, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2018
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