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SEASON OF THE WOLF All disillusion knows not its tortured Loss nothing aches as brilliant like tundra stillness the jumbled twist of fear lays sprawled like Robin's Eggs waiting for warmeth and nurture to eject it into Birth canyons echo only crystal emptiness inside eternal walls snow falls there is silence instead of distant wolves calling to answer a darkness once as elusive as themselves temperatures drop like thickened ice once wrapped across muzzles that sang to its frozen descent man trespassed, leaving behind more than just footprints all wonder, not to cease from the chaos of order left unrestored lone cub haunched beside its mother in the bleeding whiteness of the snow above, an Eagle dips gently in his lonely flight cocks his head sadly: he observes from high the sadness in the wind the Chant of Wildlife that beats like a broken heart for the Last Season of the Wolf.






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