Wolf Song
When air is still and dread silence suffocates
death violates esteemed sylvan sanctity—
whose jealous eye in malice deprecates,
absent demur, spurns all that ought to be.
Sussurus raised on gossamer wing;
rebuild the scaffold of life’s innocence.
Forever defer morbid harbinger’s ring,
proclaim sacred tales and stifle abeyance.
Compile sacred prayers we might ever utter;
inhale the waft of life’s incense redolent.
Disregard uncouth hordes that senselessly mutter;
encircle, condemn all the callously petulant.
And ever be heard wolves' melodious song;
endless the days their sweet harmonies prolong.
Copyright © Mark Peterson | Year Posted 2015
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