The Pack Of Wolves
When I was a lad
A story from dad
Was quite gory as I recall:
A horse-cutter drawn
Was going along
One evening quite late in the fall.When darkness sets in
The troubles begin
As horses begin to tire;
A wolf-pack takes chase
Which starts up the race
“Will we make it, I ask you, sire?”A nod with hat-tip,
And the crack of his whip,
And the froth from the horses’ mouth,
Only answer he got;
Then the first wolf he shot –
Wolves fell back, as they hurtled on south.Two more shots rang out;
Crack of whip and a shout;
Then a horse is cut free for their feed;
But soon they are back
And are closing the gap
Lights ahead and the safety they need.Then the man loads his gun,
Passes reins to his son –
Farewell, stands alone, holding his ground.
Distant shots all he hears,
As his face streams with tears,
Safety gained – only pistols are found.Sometimes in our life
With its struggle and strife
We find wolves closing in from behind.
As for safety we dash,
(Be it product or cash)
It's these stories which then come to mind.For a choice we then face
As we take up the race
What to lose? What is precious at base?
Then we act on our choice
Giving love silent voice
Once to each comes such critical case.We don't know when it comes
As our horse-cutter runs
Through the snow, summer, spring-time, or fall;
But when our day arrives,
And we forfeit our lives,
Life and love then flows out for us all.navigation