Is it the fire or maybe just September
that paints the park in shades of brown?
A herd of bold, shaggy bison crop
amber prairie grass waving below
gigantic silver Rockies.
Do the small calves by their side face
certain death from winter’s blizzards?
I reach from my car window,
touch the sloughing coat of one
historic survivor marching like a tired soldier
down the highway’s center line.
In the distance hobbling on three legs,
no longer able to keep up,
a potential dinner for wolves.
© by Glenda C. Beall.
Used with the author’s permission.
Glenda Council Beall was raised on a farm in Albany, Georgia, and taught school for many years before relocating to western North Carolina. Widely published in journals, anthologies, newspapers, and magazines, she now teaches writing classes for adults and served for several years as Program Coordinator for the western branch of the North Carolina Writers Network. To learn more about Glenda, visit http://glendacouncilbeall.blogspot.com.
Nice poem. Every animal and plant exists to be eaten by another animal. The wolves have to eat too.
Posted 09/14/2015 11:49 AM
Great commentary in poetic form, very sad, very true, very apt. I can see it too ~
Posted 09/14/2015 11:48 AM