Winter Sun

His weary eyes were everywhere, To track each tiny sound, The hungry wolf beyond his lair Trod softly on the ground. For somewhere near or somewhere far His next meal had to be. If not, no midnight, moon or star His weary eyes would see... His stomach churned each step he took, Yet Death was patient still... His jaws were like an open book, As he surveyed the hill. How many hills had he climbed now? A dozen, maybe more, With all past strength God could allow He fought the final war... His prey escaped a sudden death... His loss and yet their gain... Life is a journey, breath by breath, His offspring to remain... He couldn't find a single crumb Of comfort for this phase. He didn't know his time had come... This was the end of days... Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2010. The poem is based on the magnificent painting by Stephen Gayford called 'Winter Sun'. More Stephen Gayford poems here: denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com