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.