Poetry / The wolf.

Deep in the woods
at the brink of night.
One creature arises
to start a fight.

Trotting gently
hopping with grace.
Ears perked
apon it’s narrow face.

It’s golden eyes widen
as it watches it’s prey.
Unsuspecting and oblivious
everything is fair game.

It’s fur flattens
It’s mouth salivates
Claws dug into the ground
food is it’s fate.

A crackle is heard
The prey is alarmed
The wolf is ready
and the chase is on.

Wind glides by
with natures touch
and guides the wolf
to catch its lunch.

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