the cry

He stands alone at the top of the hill And sings his mournful cry,His mate and cubs are missing He's not certain why. He had been out hunting Was gone for only a day,
And hurried back with empty jaws So scarce now was their prey. He wasn't gone long
Eager to get home, But the den was cold and empty And he sensed something was wrong.
The smell of man was everywhere With footprints in the dirt,And blood shed from his family He knew they had been hurt. He sat and waited day by day With hopes they would return,There wasn't much he could do Except quietly sit and yearn. Why would man come all this way To hunt and shoot them down,To interrupt their quiet lives When no harm had been done? Their territory plainly marked And not once did they stray, For they would rather starve to death Than to get in man's way. The smell of chickens, cows and sheep
Were so tempting at times,But instincts warned not to hunt them Or they would lose their lives. And so they lived a quiet life Existing on small game,Careful it was only wildlife
And nothing man had tamed. So he could find no reason For the blood shed on that day,
So peacefully they lived here So far out of man's way. Maybe they'd be coming back
His cubbies and his mate,Wolves are mated once for life So he would sit and wait.
That was many moons ago And they have not come back,But he will not stop hoping
For the reunion of his pack. He now knows men are murderers But still does not know why,And every night he climbs his hill And sings his mournful cry.