Friday, 29 April 2011
Poem to Wolf
So, having admitted to being out-and-out Wildwood Tarot crazy, here's some more poetry for my new beau:
Running, chasing, out of breath,
Hunting down, the scent of death.
Prey has fallen to the ground,
Howling gathers pack around.
Feasting, sharing, bellies warm,
Til we face the next long storm.
I claim the land, and claim the night,
Filling two-legs up with fright.
King am I til challenged be,
My pack lives on, both wild and free.