(07) The Pack Of Four Is No More
Poem By J.B. LeBuert
They had begun the trip back to their place of birth.
Killing as they went without caring their food's worth.
They moved with stealth and grace, like a well-oiled machine.
Their lack of fear would cause the demise of one teen.
One cannot kill without severe consequences.
You can't go through your life and burn all your fences.
This quad pack had no conscience or moral desires.
The primal game was death, to quench their inner fires.
One night while stalking another innocent prey,
Regardless of their situation, come what may.
The runt of the group didn't see the danger sign.
She was destined to die and to be left behind.
They were plodding through and stalking in the dank swamp.
No one heard the fifteen foot alligator chomp.
The game was over almost before it began.
Indiscriminate killing is a poor game plan.
The remaining threesome didn't know what to think.
They had brought down a swamp deer and began to drink,
Before anyone saw that they were only three.
They sniffed the foul air and listened for the runt's plea.
They had a great bond for each other until death.
It had come with life, and remained to the last breath.
The early hours of that day were spent in a search
For their beloved runt, found near a dead swamp birch.
The grief in their hearts was heard in their lonesome howls.
They mourned for the days of play and meat in their jowls.
The Shewolf lost her favorite daughter and friend.
Many empty lonesome days the three would now spend.
Hunger now set in for those remaining alive.
It was back to killing, and you had to survive.
They would never forget what they had had before,
But now they must face, The Pack of Four is No More.