The Wolf
Paws moving, plodding ever forward,
Trees hanging, brushing the ground,
Snow glistening, sparkling in the sun,
Scent guiding, leading to the delicate prey.
Twig snapping, reverberating in the stillness,
Fur bristling, tensing for impact,
Predator pouncing, capturing the defenseless creature.
Author Note: I wrote this as a genre poem for my 10th-grade English class, back in 2012. I’m still quite proud of it.
Shoshana Weaver 