Wolves
Wolves congregate on nightly prowls;
claiming the rights of kith and kin.
And hail Luna with baying howls;
closing ranks as the wails begin.
A pocked-faced moon beams down with joy
as wolves pay homage without pause.
And each harmonic they employ
rises from massive upturned jaws.
In their charcoal coats, dappled grey,
it's as if they weren't even there.
And concealed from the eyes of prey;
they stock the night with little care.
Praising the moon to no avail;
they fail to convince Her to stay.
But, slinking through the forest trail,
familiar odors guide their way.
With late-night jaunts through Glen and Glade,
these stealthy creatures shadow black.
And taking stock of all surveyed;
families form a hunting pack.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2015
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