Grey Streaks Poem by Jacob Biehl

climbing, sprinting, running, hunting, for life
wont stop, to fast, wind cracking past, silence
all stops, time slows, hare falling to white knife
to pups i go, behind a furry fence,

it's calm for the lights anew, grow in sky
but under high moon's noon, the loner waits,
a fast pace towards the small, new, runt pup
a haste of wall to bide the tide's cruel bites,

the howl of pain hits the starry night's dainty,
a death of old to help a new world kin,
the loner fades and the pups grow mighty,
and leave simple fortress, as always been,

as nature's tale tell's a wolf's pride, he hunts,
for luck's kind chance that his fate not be blunt.