The following poem is thanks to Rhonda for e-mailing it to me for us to share.
Many great compliments to Karen Evans for writing this.

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.

By Karen Evans