By Reginald O’Neal Gibson 

The hunt upon the glow of sight,  

sheds bright upon the moonlit night. 

The howl of life the wolves delight, 

broken upon the skies incite. 

“What are they” whispers cub on hill, 

great-grandfather wolf speaks, with utter of chills. 

Those are they that’ll rape our land,  

death, and destruction they’ll covet in hand. 

Heaven on earth they’ll claim phenomenal, 

but truth be told child — they’re the real animals. 

Run!