Through a wolf's eyes

By Julia Proft
Shelburne Community School, Grade 6

Fiery yet gentle
Luminous and bright
Deep pools capturing the reflection
Of a sacred, starry night.

Starting as the joyful
One-of-a-kind shade of blue
Then ending at the wisdom
Of a beautiful amber hue.

Artists moan miserably
Through failures and stress
“It’s just not right” they sigh,
“It’s all just one big mess.”

No matter how many colors
No matter how many tries
An artist cannot capture
The wolf’s wandering eyes.

An old lame caribou walks through the herd
To a pack of watching wolves: friend or foe?
It eats the few last greens needed
For the young buck and doe.

Good for the herd, the wolves give a merciful death
Proving this moral never to be wrong
“It is the caribou that feeds the wolf
But the wolf that keeps the caribou strong.”
A gunshot rings throughout the woods
A small young wolf falls dead
A gasp of shock comes from the pack
Then the leader raises his head.

A howl for sorrow
A howl for why
The whole forest shaken
By this eerie cry.

The wolves, hearts unhappy and sore
All give one more nuzzle
And with just one last whimper
The mother gives a lick on the muzzle.

Then the wolves walk away leaving the wolf’s
Small body glowing in moonlight
The caribou lies where it had fallen
There would be no feast tonight.

The forest now cleared, a man walks through
A smirk on his face, a smoking shotgun at hand
The young wolf’s eyes, now clouded over
Once bright and sparkling, now dull and bland.

The poacher frowns, “Rats! It’s only a runt!
But still, it makes today’s twelfth!”
We do not understand the beast within the wolf
Simply because we do not understand the beast within ourselves.