deepundergroundpoetry.com
Wolf
He drifted ghost like through the dark forest
Until he came to the hunters camp.
He smelt her on the wind, smelt her blood
Saw that she was no more
He turned and climbed to the high spot
And in the moonlight the timber wolf
Howled his pain, his sorrow, his loss.
Until he came to the hunters camp.
He smelt her on the wind, smelt her blood
Saw that she was no more
He turned and climbed to the high spot
And in the moonlight the timber wolf
Howled his pain, his sorrow, his loss.
Published 21st Apr 2023
Author's Note
Environmental grief you might call it. Whatever, the pain of loss not only of a loved one but of the wilderness.
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