The Spirit of the Wolf
Cloaked in night apparel, her freedom cuts a swathe,
Lustrous fur reposing, unruffled by the breeze;
She lies and bides with angels, her eyes of molten gold
In silence search for love beneath the boughs of ancient trees.
And smiled upon transition of her life to ghost
When galaxies were raining wishing stars and kissing snow,
She prowls the dreaming timber, somnambulant and sleek
Below the full moon auspice of a silver plated glow.
If death be some salvation, neither cruel nor kind,
Love and mercy dominates in stead of emptiness;
Upon the highest mountain, white against the raven sky
The spirit of the wolf illuminates the wilderness.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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