Fleeting Sun

The wolf was prone to roam the land, Regardless, rain or shine, Because he knew that life was planned, Except for when he'd dine... He hunted here, he hunted there, As sunshine led the way, Till moonshine offered light to spare At every end of day... So he preferred to take things slow, Till his next meal was seen, Then with a spurt, be on the go, When things can turn quite mean... The fleeting sun could grant success Or fast escape for some, The fleeting sun could curse or bless, For now, the wolf looked glum... 'How long? ' he asked, yet he endured, Starvation growing still, No longer feeling self-assured, With nothing near to kill... Nobody there to sympathise, Or care about his pain... The fleeting sun lights up the skies, Regardless who will gain... Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2013. The poem is based on the magnificent painting by Stephen Gayford called 'Fleeting Sun'. More Stephen Gayford poems here: denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com