The Wolf

Where can I go? There’s no where left.
The land of forests is bereft?
Persecuted all our lives,
From the dawn of time,
From the first flint knife.

Sacrificed as offerings,
Stories told in different tribes,
Warriors fought wearing our hides,
We gave them power,
They took our lives.

Admired by some, despised by more,
We never had peace, only war,
Hunters now have no reason,
We are too few for their hunting season,
They kill for fun and we are now done.

They took our land, they took our lives,
Killed us with spear and hunting knives,
Killed us with bows, killed us with guns,
There is nowhere left to run or hide,
Will you miss us when we’ve all died?


By Mel Beasley