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When the wolf howls
November 12, 2012
When the wolf howls.
I rise out of my den to greet him.
We run through the woods to
meet up with the rest of the pack.
They rip the flesh of the bones of the dead deer.
After we all eat, we run throw the woods dodging trees.
As we run you can see our breath, the cold air hitting our faces.
The wolf stops dead in his tracks.
He can smell the rising sun coming throw the trees.
I walk back to me den to sleep only to be awaking by the howling of the wolf.
© Mike A., Newark, DE
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This article has 1 comment.
RIRI said...
on Dec. 23 2012 at 10:08 am
This poem gave a visual of using all senses! nice read
