Though no longer amongst us
Their tradition and spirit lingers on
Like the names associated with
Each month's new full moon
A reoccurring theme in the cycle
When months are measured by moons returning
A practice common among indigenous peoples
In the month of January
A great moon rises slowly
And at night the Wolf pack howl out plaintively
For food is scarce and the wolves are hungry
To the First Peoples - The Wolf is brother
And only a brother can feel the pain of his brother's hunger
That is why the Native Peoples name January “Wolf Moon” in their brother's honor
Now to a museum, all too soon -The Tipi (tepee, teepee) has gone
Whilst within a reservation the Wolf Pack are free to roam
As for their spirit - It is running free
And cannot be captured, best to let it be
Your Brother, The Wolf never was your enemy
© Calac
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Chris, I can tell you share a bond with the wild wolf. Your poem is a celebration of the free spirit of the wolf and is very beautiful. It is profoundly sad that the gentle Native people do not also have their freedom they once enjoyed. Your insight into their plight is poignant and shared by many. Keep writing such masterpieces as this. We all need to remember and let our youth become aware as well. Blessings, Connie