Cry of the Wolf
by Ed Robinson
When both the Sun and Moon must hide,
Behind a cloud of factory smoke,
When Rivers turn to streams of grime,
And the forests stand a single oak
That seeks, in vain, to bide its time,
When will the rage besiege your soul?
When will your razored hands, like knives,
In enemy hearts, inspire dark fear?
Then, only, can the world survive
The onslaught of ten-thousand years
Of humans ruling o'er your lives.
Then, only, will the world be free.
How, once again, the wild will reign
Alone to find itself at peace.
Then you, the wolves, can fast reclaim
Your rightful place amongst the beasts
And take the world back as your own
To feel, once more, the Sylvan breeze.
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