The Wolf - Part 2

...... Part 2 ...... With snout upturned the moon’s discerned as well as wafts a wendin’ and muzzled growls and shriekin’ howls mark wolves in quests unendin’. With fragrant hint, the wolf’s a’ sprint, the pack begins t’ rally – in swift descent they’ve seized a scent, that’s flowin’ down the valley. The wolf moves on behind the dawn and shades the pale horizon as she-wolfs vet his silhouette each time they lay their eyes on. With trek discreet, a trail is beat across a river frozen – when day’s complete, just mice to eat, a choice despised, but chosen. A stillness jeers the shaggy ears (one droopin’ down, hung over), while caribou, with much ado, drift, seekin’ blades o’ clover; the wearied pack picks up their track (with stony stomachs pangin’) through endless seas of barren trees with ice like daggers hangin’. The wolf invades forgotten glades, the pack stays close behind ’im; the caribou, in his purview, seem far too far to mind ’im. Above, a baleful moonbeam wails, “oh god he’s gonna’ catch ’em”; the scene is grim, the Reaper dim, the night has gone to fetch ’im. A moanin’ mynah’s crying loud as birds of prey are preachin’ to cravin’ ravens prayin’ proud and wide-eyed owls a’ screechin’. The wolf, unrushed, is breathin’ hushed, his hollow eyes a’ narrowin’ and focused hard in fixed regard on herds they'll soon be harrowin’. The morning breeze is ill at ease, a surge brings sudden silence – then haggard swarms launch poundin’ storms and hurricanes of vi’lence; the herd’s surprised and paralyzed all over hell’s half acre – the leadin’ buck’s run out of luck, he’s soon to meet his maker. ...... Continued in Part 3 ......