The Silver Wolf Poem by Thistle Wargul

The wolf sits alone, as still as a statue.
Its limbs are in perfect proportion
With beautiful and sleek starlight fur.
Its white flecked ears flick as it listens,
And its long mournful howl echoes in the night like a thousand lost souls.

A wind stirs the dry brown leaves,
Caught in the branches of a dead oak tree.
The small red form of a squirrel darts up a fence.
The mothering dove coos uncomfortably into the darkness,
As a black cat with gleaming yellow eyes darts by.

The city ferments the surrounding landscape,
Car fumes drifting in the breeze.
A lone tramp breaths peacefully
From on top of a plain wooden bench.
The bang of a white van door as it screeches away.

A starlit nose raises to sent the air,
And a friendly yelp as sweet as a strawberry.
Another mournful ghostly wolf
Its fur as dark as the night sky, joins the first.
Two canines side by side, streaking through the sky on velvet paws
Watching as humans change their home.

If you listen when the first lamb in spring is born
When the wildflowers open their petals to the renewed sun,
And the deep green valleys burst with new growth,
Can you hear those long mournful howls echoing in the still chilly air?
Maybe they are trying to tell us something?