Oh, let me read my wolf poem while we're
talking about darkness and things like that.
This is from quite a few years back.
Oh there it is.
It's called "An Apology for Wolves,"
another animal that has always fascinated me.
"An Apology for Wolves."
They have always vilified us, sensing our stealth
and their lack of it.
And moved by the first impulse of their dim minds
throw stones, beach shields.
Catch us in their iron sights as if we wanted their women
or would steal their gods.
It is true we've been caught on occasion
with the remnants of petticoats still in our mouths
or sporting a red cap just for a lark.
But we've got a bad press which capitalizes on such exceptions.
A grandmother of two coughed up now and then
and doesn't consider our loss of face
when driven into the suburbs by a long winter and heavy snows.
Actually it's just a simple lack of understanding on their part,
a myopia common to all muscular animals.
We mean no harm, but must pursue that fine exhilaration
instinctively hours flaming tails in bushes
and leaves slipping along our backs.