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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem