Wolf Mourning Song

She cries the ancient song:
Ohm...lupine style -
given to her from ancestors long ago
as her paws prance the drumbeat
in newly-fallen alpine snow.

Elegance, passion, fluid motion...
she is one with the river,
the snow,
the mountain,
the sky,
this she-wolf earth spirit that haunts the hills.

One with all, a part of creation
beating like a heart spanning time and space.
She belongs, and we belong, and
everything has it's place.

And yet, the image fades.
Iron and steel are ripped from the ground.
Trees leveled, mountains upended in the
name of progress - the killer of all things.

She is not wanted here,
in this place of man and his ideals:
her beauty made savage by her non-conformity.

Lack of understanding brings death to her people,
and she must run,
or pay the price to
the pay-loader and the gun.

So silently she leaves,
turning her back on the ravished
memory of home.

And beneath the roar of diesel
you hear her song of mourning
as she cries.