In Arctic stillness, where the whiteness becomes as the sore
a deep call of redemption, her pack alerted to the wind
caution reflect not fear, somewhere a wolf is near
a ravine down below, detects movement a little slow ...

Crunching way down deep, somewhere a wolf comes face to face
with humanity on hunting and little knowledge
survival is the norm, by a bullet and a deadly whim
wilderness is his blood, mankind to such atrocity ...

But bent, it seems, is humanity, on hunting in scared boundary
leaving destruction in their paths, the wolf forgotten again
with mortal animosity, brings sadness that emits a warning
a she wolf brings her flight, the while wolf brings much fright...

Frozen tumble waiting to sink, watches the wolf as her voice will be heard nature adorns her various fur, leaves try to break the incurable fall off in the distance, sings an owl, a turtle lay basking on a pebble bask slowly the wolf sprints over the mask, before swopping to catch the ill fate of the hawk....

So beautiful is the wolf, as she sleeks to and fro
catching the rays of the sun and the darkness of the night'
dusk settles, the horizon becomes orange
as the beauty of the wolf, fades fast to the midnight hues....

Debbie Brooks 2014