Poem Hunter
Crying Wolf.
MP Michael Philips ( / )

Crying Wolf.

Eerie howling, wolfhound calling.
Amber eyes alight.
Spirit of the deepest forest.
Stealthy pads the night.

Distant hunting, litters growing.
Feral family proud.
Livestock missing, farmers arming.
Freedom disallowed.

Tortured trappings, party shootings.
Stalking after dark.
Sighting now of wolfpacks only
In the Wildlife park.

Pressured lifestyle, fragile living.
Species on the wane.
Now mere myth and legend honour
Wolf of prairie fame.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 11 votes ) 5

Comments (5)

thoroughly enjoyable work. -Tailor B.
relatives like Aunt Rita were always my favourites. they had a confidence and wild streak nobody else in my family seemed to possess. great poem, Michael! Jake
I'd love to meet your Aunt Rita. Extremely witty poem! Gershon
Michael, I love this poem. We all know these people, love them even. A friend once told me everyone has at least one redeeming quality. However sometimes we have to dig for it.
Excellent! I enjoyed this. Chrissie