Since a young age,
I swore never to wear fur.
Not because I’m some ignorant cur,
I know how high in mighty status,
These beautiful coats make us.
Seeing a wolf skin up for wear,
Was a little more than I could bear.

The stuffed feet you see here,
Have left footprints far and near,
Felt the spring, summer and snow,
Stepped in the cool river water flow.
Walked through mud, snow and grass,
Leaned into the wind’s terrible blast.

Those glassy eyes that were dug up from the mire,
Had once flashed with cold hell-fire,
Narrowed in utmost fury,
Till its foes felt it was time to worry.
Seen sights we’ll never see,
We know that, you and me.

That tail now listless and still,
At a time wagged like a crazed windmill,
Shagged up in agitation,
Before it’s host met termination.

As the harvest ripens the crop and wine tips from cups,
What if this wolf had some pups?
They will await their non-existent parent,
Never to return, not now…
Or ever…

So my reader, if I wanted to look grand,
Go out and impress my friends,
I would wear a fancy tux,
Maybe just a little faux.
Stroll through the glade’s grass and burs,
But NEVER, or EVER will I wear furs!!!

Wandering-wolves
-Winston-