The howls of the wolves
echo through the darkest skies
united as a sullen capella
who sing the song of a lost
the one they’ll never meet again.
Through my grief, through my sorrow
I venture on my own
a lone wolf, searching for meaning
for (all) I have lost.
A journey begets miracles,
my spirit is risen!
like the souls of the undead
in “El dia de los muertos”
because through my wolf-like gaze
I see her in the distance
a beauty I can’t live without.
Her hair was beautiful,
her eyes were feral,
and her look was majestic
like the appearance of a white wolf
in a countryside, winter wonderland.
I gave her my wolfish grin,
she gave me a heartwarming smile.
That’s it! I knew we were meant to be.
Our little wolfpup is born.
Her coat as majestic as her mothers
and her eyes as brown as my own
The wolfpups dance as they play,
a traditional, cultural dance.
One made to remember those whomhavepassed
and to celebrate the new generation to come.
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