The Red Wolf

What color red is she, I say.

Her fur so shining-smooth.


It bounces and rolls

like waves of water,

crashing as she runs through the night.


The ginger envelops the currant

while brick-red and crimson latch on.

It's like a dance, I see

the colors woven together so intricately.


She howls her mournful song,

a symphony for those she has lost.

Who does the red wolf yearn for?

Perhaps if I ask, she will tell.

This poem is about: 
Our world



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