She lays on soft ground, tears running down her face
She is caught in a war of a quickly dying race.
Her paws are swore, her muscles tight
She had led the pack throughout the cold night.
They were fleeing from danger, from man and his gun
No matter how hard they fought, they were still left to run.
Tears stung in her eyes as she buried her nose
Her brother would be with them, but he had gotten too close.
Before they came to settle at this temporary rest
They all cried for their fallen wolves, howling their best.
Although she howled with the pack, her spirit howled alone
This was her sorrowful song, now etched in stone.
As her hymn rang true, its stretched from clouds to stars
This is her true beauty despite all her scars.
Her memory lives on, if you look to the sky
You can see the great wolf still howling her cry.
She sings on hind legs, her head held high
Engulfed in flaming light, her spirit will never die.
She was a beautiful creature, both proud and strong
Now you know the story. You've heard Kyla's Song.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem