White Fang
A sparkle, a gleam, and then blood drawn
Dew on the ground at the coming of dawn
Light chasing away the shadows of night
Sunshine erasing the horror of the fight
Blood on the ground the only sign found
Oh, and patches of fur scattered around
All is quite now in the early morning fog
Squirrels running down the fallen old log
Pink hues mingle in a peaceful Fall sky
The troubles of night are now nowhere bye
Yet in the place where the crickets sang
The stain of the prey on an old white fang
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Author:
MDStone (
Offline) - Published: May 10th, 2025 20:50
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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Comments3
Tales of natures night and it's life cycle, enjoyed the read
Thank you so kindly. Your work and words are appreciated and enjoyed as well.
You are very welcome
This pulls up pictures of Jack London but I feel that outside the wonderful images and story told there is more a metaphor as well and so well written.
Soren, thanks for the read and comments. Yes, your suspicion is correct. For all the beautiful calm mornings, there are sinister things that happen in the night. I wrote this in recognition of the innocence lost, pain, and trauma of the prey. Thank you for your keen insights.
This speaks both of Discovery Channel stuff and other things that parallel in feel and result. Much enjoyed🙏🏻🕊️
Thank You so kindly for the read and encouraging words.
You are most welcome. Thank you too for your support of my work 🕊️🙏🏻
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