to wear the blood of the WOLF.

I will not speak of the time

When angels died the morning

Our relatives were mourning and

Sobbing. The death of our 

Queen is what we observe.

Through the woods,

      Through the branches 

 I could see the butterflies display

Their wings and the tears

    Of crows wash away the

    Afternoon. As soon as the

Moon shows us the meaning

     Behind triangles and broken

Flower petals.              I hear my

M o t h e r     from afar, as the

Blueberries 

 start  

      to  

form.