Lone Wolf

Every night atop the rock
He sits and waits and watches.

The valley below is lush and green
Full of life, both seen and unseen.

His eye is keen and is strikes the land
A sign of life, a fellow beast.

A chance to share himself at last
A hope for community.

The nights slip by and his coat is wet
The rains they come and go.

Unshared storms and sunny days
An unseen ark has stolen his mob.

Alone and dark he sits
King of silence, Master of the blowing wind.

The keen eye grows slowly pained and sad
Even the mighty suspect they have lost.

But every night he still keeps his post
Ignoring wind and rain and fire.

How long will he stand?
How many nights without a sign?

No pack, no community.