The Wolf Poem by Ruben Hair

(I am not much of a poet, I do not rhyme. I just write. So take my 'poems' for what you will.)

The wolf is a beautiful animal.
Guided by its senses,
Smell being the most keen.

I am a wolf.
Led by my nose.
I will find my prey.

A sudden scent catches me.
The aroma is dangerous,
For I have never smelt something like this before.
I take my time approaching the source of this scent.
I find it.

I am not sure what this creature is.
It is very beautiful, but it looks to be in pain.
Pain, yes.
I know what pain is.

I approach this creature very slowly.
Staying in the brush,
I do not want to be seen.
Silently, moving around.
Watching. Waiting.

After a while I realize that this creature is in excruciating pain.
I come out of the brush, slowly, carefully.
It spots me. I stop.

The creature does...something.
It seems to be friendly.
I move a little closer.

It makes a sudden noise, startling me.
I stop where I am, look around.
It seems we are the only ones here.

I work my way closer and closer.
It touches me.
A strange sensation flutters throughout my body.
I do not know what this is.

It starts to make noise.
I don't know what it is doing.
I feel I must help.
I lay down on top of it, trying to keep it warm.

It gets louder.
I remove myself, and sit next to it.
Looking at it in confusion.
I do not understand.
I do not know what it needs.

Maybe it is hungry?
I'm hungry.
I need to hunt.

I bring it back a rabbit.
Rather large, good meat.
It won't eat it.
I ate mine, It was good.

The creature is still laying there.
Making strange noises.
I wish I knew what to do.
I lie down next to it.
It starts to touch me.
To run its paw down my spine.

I am wary, but calm.
It continues to do this.
The strange feeling is back.
I wish I knew what this was.

All of a sudden it yelps loudly and grabs its leg.
I jolt up and back away, for I am startled.
I stand, looking, trying to figure this out.

It has a strange coat of fur.
It isn't very soft.
It can also be pulled back.
I find this strange.

The creature pulls its fur back,
to reveal a large wound.
I panic.

I do not know what to do.
I want to help, but I do not know what to do.
I look at its eyes, then at the wound.
Frantically, I walk back and forth.
Looking into its eyes, and at the horrible, horrible wound.

I remember when I was hurt.
My mother licked my wounds.
They got better.

I walk slowly to the creature.
I sniff the wound.
It moves quickly to pull away.
I sit and look it in the eyes.

Eventually the creature falls asleep.
I use this time wisely.
I evaluate the wound.
It seems very painful.

I feel I must help, in some fashion.
I begin to lick the wound.
Trying to make it better.

It awakens.
It starts to thrash about, yelping fiercely.
I run.
Not far.
Far enough to get out of this creatures reach.
I do not want to be hurt.

I do not think I can help this creature.
It is not like me.
I do not know its ways.

I want to help so badly.
But I do not know what to do.
I just lie down beside it once more.
Its scent is unlike anything I have ever smelled.

I decide to stay with this creature.
As long as I may have to.

(6/15/10)