The old wolf glanced at the forest,
In the breaking light of dawn
And a strange new thought so seized him,
As he stretched the first day’s yawn.
How long he’d prowled those shadowed depths,
Among those sturdy trees.
and many a winter snow had passed,
and many a summer breeze.
He never counted as they passed,
Each chilly spring or fall,
Each sunrise meant another day,
Each night the moon would call.
His pack mates; most were gone now,
They’d age, and slow and die.
He’d bow his head and walk on
Beneath the next grey sky
But now this new thought scratched him,
A moment sad and grim
That as he’d stalked his prey each day
T’was time that stalked for him.
Time, it was relentless
He couldn’t run away.
Would he see tonight another moon
Or die that very day?
Would those who lived then mourn him
Or simply move ahead?
As he had done so oft before,
The forest claimed the dead
Yet to spite these thoughts he rose again,
A grim gleam in his eye.
If time wished to come and take him
It would have to come and try.
He’d listen and be vigilant
Though time would come apace
He could still move and hide and run
And lead a tiring chase.
And when at last he’d turn at bay
he’d stare time in the eye
And it would come and take him,
And on that day, he’d die.
But he’d make time remember him,
Through all the days that came
Whenever time yet stalked a wolf
It would recall his name
As the fiercest, fastest, strongest soul
To ever stalk the wood
And perhaps through that he’d live on
As only an old wolf could.
~ Ceridon Dalkorith
March 28, 2018
Gypsy Concepts 