Late in June in the pale of the moon you’ll
Hear the sound of a howling platoon.

They Travel in packs without leaving tracks
Questing for food, companions or snacks.

You’ll know there around by their blood
Curdling sound. Enough to
Scare The Toughest of hounds.

There’s one dominant Alfa male that leads
The pack this is his tale.

He was just a three year old the hound of hell
Or so I’ve been told. He came into my camp
one night his eyes glowing red by the firelight.

He looked through me as if I wasn’t there he didn’t
Seam to have a care. I thought to myself this just
Isn’t right most wolves would run away in fright.

As he looked me up and down I started to see
That there was something different to some degree
He didn’t snarl or even growl or show his teeth he just
Let out a howl.

And then they came in one by one I counted nine and
I had no gun. I thought to myself this is the end against
Ten I can’t defend.

And then he looked me in the eye and just kind of let out
A little sigh. He lifted his paw up close to my face then
I could see the thorn in its place.

Do I pull it do I dare will they know I’m trying to care.
I know I could be ripped apart but I don’t care I have
a big heart.

Theirs one thing I don’t like to see and that’s someone
or something in misery.

So I said allowed in a frightened voice I really don’t seem
to have much of a choice so I took the thorn out of it’s place
hoping it wasn’t a big mistake.

He licked my hand and then my face as if to say thanks for
The kind displace.

I sat with them the rest of the night up until the morning light.
They left me at the crack of down and so their lives will carry on.

Though some people might look at wolves with fright when I see
Wolves it’s to me a delight.

When I think back to that time and place with a campfire and ten
Wolves in it’s place and there was I alone but one with the wolves
Not even a gun.