Not Her Story Territory Poem by Thistle Wargul

Crouching down,
Moving slowly,
Aware of every tiny sound.
The lone-wolf,
Paws placed carefully,
Creeps up on it’s fearful prey.

Snap then shriek,
Teeth meet beak,
Kicking a desperate struggle for life.
Not a wimp,
But dead and limp,
The snow owl lies there stained and broken.

A howl from the forest,
Full of menace,
The feasting white wolf whips around.
Not her story
Or territory,
Surrounded quickly without a sound.

A big black beast,
All scarred and creased;
Steps forwards with a threatening snarl.
Teeth bared too,
Coat glossy with dew,
White meets black in a cloud of grey.

One’s a devil,
One’s a spirit,
Fur and faces stained with scarlet.
Blood dark as night;
He’s lost the fight,
His leadership is no more.

Crouching down,
Moving slowly,
Aware of every tiny sound.
The lone-wolf,
Paws placed carefully,
Creeps up on it’s fearful prey.