Ireland – once named Wolf Land, now stands alone the last alpha,
A silhouette against the tree line.
A wild predator in an outward appearance, brave and strong,
But now his courage must persevere. His hunger now more fierce
than the depths of winter.
Once united with his she-wolf, now howls and cries an empty cry,
lost in a loneliness to the depths of time.
The wolf now fated to death, grief and hate for the hunter. The price
of victory is loss and death. The last wolf knows his fate, cry, cry and
cry again, the wolf howls into the bleak of winters night.
In the end it's not the hunter that wins for Wolf Land has died from
another man's sin. When the war is over and life is bland, the hunters
will stroll on a barren land, left to reminisce what was once named.
By Ciara