I saw a documentary on wolves,
In Yellowstone, reintroduced a few Decades ago.
They're doing well, it seems.
The winter's tough in Yellowstone, the grass
Is far below the snow, the hungry herd
Is easy meat as winter takes its toll.
The wolf, of course, could not be less concerned
By how unfair the feeding frenzy seems
To prey hit hard by winter's frost who then
Cannot defend their sick and young but see
Them struggle, fall, to unrelenting jaws.
It's in their nature, born to eat the weak.
I saw a stat in a rag on the road
Up to Christmas. Paper said, a hundred,
Thirty five thousand young humans homeless
In time for Christmas. Highest number since
Two thousand seven. Just zero point two
Percent the British population, though.
Around the size of Newport or Colchester.
The wolf, of course, could not be less concerned.
An apex beast has fought for every piece
Of winter's banquet. Gorge upon success,
You've earnt the right to celebrate yourselves
And if another's young must freeze for yours To feed.
The parent should have been a wolf.
Robert Best works in IT and lives in Wales. He loves running about in the hills, archaic stick sports, and traditional folk music. At some point he may actually finish one of the many novels he's started but until then you'll struggle to access any of his artistic outlets unless you make a habit of checking out the folk clubs in South Wales.