The arctic wastelands numb the bones
And wolves aren't yet immune,
Upon the winds you'll hear their groans
And moans that won't end soon...
For arctic wastelands test the souls
Of all who wander near,
As if to find out what controls
Their every thought and fear...
The arctic winds feel no remorse
As they go howling by,
They simply blow, maintain their course,
While all God's creatures sigh...
The wolf must wander like the wind
Along some unknown path,
For come the day he's left behind,
They'll write his epitaph...
For now, he lives, to face the storm,
To battle through each hour...
Remembering he once was warm,
But now he's feeling sour...
So woe betide whatever's found
That he can eat today!
His heart's turned cold, just like the ground
That hides what he calls prey...
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Arctic Wanderer'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem