Wolf Song (for Cindy)

My first poem, edited.

My wild wolf howls to the silver moon;
Life is but a breath from heated lungs
Expired in vapour swirls, over the pale white snow.

So many prayers once prayed, are now forgotten;
For sickly leaves in heaven, they fall too,
Before their colours, in a season gone, return home.

Hoary throats cut through the clean thin air,
Year after year, pain after pain;
For our love of song is to sing, even when unheard.

© shywolf 2022
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critique and comments welcome.
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Hi Bro, I think this would be better laid out in shorter lines for more effect. If not, at least the last lines. You want to leave the deepest impression as the reader leaves the poem so to me breaking up the final line has more oomph. see below ‘For our love of song is to sing, even when unheard.’ You may not agree. ๐Ÿ˜‰ The first line is a bit predicatable ๐Ÿ™ but as a first poem, it shows your heart and passion for deep feeling and philosophy, so it’s well done. ‘For sickly leaves in heaven, they fall… Read more ยป


Ah yes. It’s all about the singer and the song. Enjoyed the read.


Very, very much enjoyed this lovely poem, it really conveys the cold harshness of deep hurt. Stunning images too. Sue ๐Ÿ™‚


Cher Loup:

I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be reading your fine words again. Yes, some lovely imagery here, but the wording too is choice. Effective and clean, yet powerful and resounding. I do agree that the last line would be a bit more resonant if split in two, but it still works as it is.
You’ve been missed by this old witch,

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