Hillsides of evergreen where the breath of nature
weaved within the branches, kissing every leaf
they bowed in sensibility of this moving.

Below magnetic in its roaming, barks of trees
caressing its need to scratch needing of relief.
The pack awaiting for there brother to join again.

Playful in there roughing up of others, but never
blemishing a brothers flesh, always looking out
for each the alpha always feeing first respect earned.

When the seasons linger between lucid hues of
decay and the white washing of scenery they,
Playful times are less, hunger is there regress.

White lingers as tears of life's wine saturates,
the need of the many feeding on the fallen
motions of there prey, living for another day.