With eyes like the rising sun,

and fur of wind and earth,

the boy wolf tries not drown in the sea

of ignorance and abuse.

He struggles to bite through the net

that traps him

like a fly caught in a spider's web,

the stench of blood

clogging up his nostrils.

The young one watches helplessly

as his companions collapse

into a motionless state,

their bodies,

too,

ensnared.

The warm red liquid

touches nearby roots

of trees that lament,

"O, why must such a thing happen?"

while lashing their arm-branches

in a wild manner,

and the wolf squeezes his eyes shut,

closing out

the harsh,

booming cackle Man makes.

A hot tear

mingles into the fur of the male's handsome face.

O,

dear child,

your spirit will live,

dashing freely through the forests,

singing to the fat, yellow moon,

and seeing the world,

alive with generations that continue to grow,

change.