Has tales to tell,
The legends and lore
He knows so well.
From survival and feasting
On the vast plain,
From blinding blizzards
And torrential rain.
They have seen it all
As the Indians have,
Almost extinct
As the buffalo calf.
Beautiful creatures
Who stand with pride,
Few do live
And most have died.
His last request
Is a howl at the moon,
Telling his brothers
We'll be extinct real soon.
If you look into his eyes
You will see a tear,
His howl he bellows
Is all you will hear.
If mankind would stop
And try to save,
The wolf would flourish
Again one day.
Let's save these beautiful
Mystical eyes,
To tell more tales
That are so wise.
The eyes of the wolf
Has tales to tell,
His howl at the moon
We know so well.
I whine in disappointment of not being able to hunt with them because I'm still young.
"Very soon," begins my older brother sitting beside me, "you'll be out there leading the pack just like him and mother."
I know this is true but it seems so far away when I think about it.
My sister nuzzles me with her stout nose to play a game with her.
My brother is amused and tells me to not think of hunting, but to live and enjoy my precious moments as a pup.
"You'll be a grown wolf soon enough," he says.
Feeling a twitch of hope within my heart, I race after my sister and over the cold, powdery face of Mother Earth.
I tumble and roll within the flying flakes of Mother Earth's hair so white and clean, knowing that I will someday be a leader, a hunter, and a father of a pack all my own.