'Does thou hath the strength to challenge me? ' bellows the wolf with blood stained fangs. 'I hath the strength to challenge thee, and I shall smite thee with a bullet of steel.' prides the bulk of a man with shining guns. He strides the land with the pride of a fool. 'Does thou challenge me to thine death, or be a couward and to the first wound? ' spaken the wolf by the name of white moon. His fur as white as snow. The man says, 'Death, ' and then readies his weapon. The wolf steadies his feet. The gun sounds, the bullet misses, and the wolf makes his strike. The dust clears, the blood stains, and the wolf strides with a grin, 'The fool should have backed away. 'sigh' I guess I will wait for the next fool.
' So, the wolf stands his ground waiting for Fool's Pride and howls at the origin of his name.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem