NICHE
Making her way with a smooth silent tread,
A wolf coloured handsomely white, black and red.
Small watchful ears twitching forward and back,
Nose listening hard for the scent of her pack.
By the stream, in the grass, the cubs jump and play.
In mock fights and chasing they learn the wolf's way.
Her mate, lying watchful, yawns, stretches and stands
Glad she's come back to take them off his hands.
The cubs see their mother; they gambol to greet,
Slipping a little on unsteady feet.
She licks them and lies down. They rush to be fed
By the lovely young wolf, black and white, chestnut red.
Her strong, handsome mate - what a prize she has there!
Licks her chin. "Now my love, will I catch you a hare?
"Though they run like the wind," he body-speaks words,
"Or would you like pigeon? They're fine, tasty birds."
"A pigeon," she signals. He's gone at a run,
To capture a bird in its feathers of dun.
With the cubs tired and yawning, the light growing pale,
She enters her den with a swish of her tail.
Soon after, when dining on dove with her mate,
She reflects that her life has been perfect of late.
She has love, pack and freedom and being well-fed;
Is a beautiful wolf, white and black, chestnut red