Shewolf did prefer to stalk in the twilight hour;
She'd drag some back to the lair, for all to devour,
It was matter of choice, not an obsession.
I viewed with my camera, that's my confession.
The blood soaked earth of the den smelled of recent death;
So many were here, who had taken their last breath,
This was just natural to the brood, as they slept.
One adolescent woke, around the cave it crept.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem