The Eclipse Of The Wolf And The Wind

• Victoria Bassett-wilton, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2014

And there on the grassy plains the wolf stood. His fur was the black of the sun and moon when they meet and his eyes were the colour of cocoa beans.
Oh, how he wanted to run with the wind, he wanted to feel its breath ruffle his thick fur yet again, but it wasn’t possible. His legs were old and dry, he could feel the bones beneath his fur creak in agony and pain, his pack had left him, for he was weak.
Oh, the torture of the old. Prey he considered an easy catch as a young wolf were faster and more furious than himself. The wicked wind pulled at him, it begged him to run with it one last time, for like the wolf, the wind knew he wouldn’t have another chance at this. The grass pushed him and though he pleaded with it not to make him run, it did so anyway.
Oh, how could he resist? The wolf, the wild, wild wolf lifted his nose to smell the freshness of the air and pricked his ears so as to hear the sound of the wind. He did not sigh; though his legs did as he lifted them and ran with the wicked wind for the final time.