Wolf Trail

How gingerly the wolf leg hangs, Now poised there in mid-air... As he fights back the hunger pangs That could lead to despair. Each gulp reminds him of his pain, Each footstep costs him time... Yet on the trail he hunts again, No longer in his prime. He thinks about the coming feast, If luck is on his side. If Nature serves the starving beast With some new soul supplied... For him to live, another won't, That's just the way it is... Today wolves hunt, while others don't. Will his plans go amiss? The hunt went well, at least for him... His victim breathes no more. The wolf survives, his chances slim... Somehow he must endure. He leaves no legacy behind Beneath God's sun so bright... Yet seeks no pity from Mankind, No prayers from us at night... Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2011. The poem is based on the magnificent painting by Stephen Gayford called 'Wolf Trail'. More Stephen Gayford poems here: denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com