Sunday, May 23, 2021

Poem a Day 23

Snow Wolf

I hunt the wolf that pads the snow
whenever sleep has closed my eyes;
the forest-track, the fields, I know,
and frosted stars that grace the skies.
Through tangled brush and mead I go
to seek the beast.

I track what never can be caught,
what moves with swiftness like the gale;
through snow, on mountains God has wrought,
it speeds with wolf-limbs coated pale;
the snow is crystal-fractal thought
and I the beast.

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