Trees in a line,
Across the open grass.
Cows walking and eating,
While birds fly past.
On the left is a pond,
Shallow, but deep.
Full of memories of fishing,
And of turtles we keep.
Today there is a wolf.
Hunting, stalking my cattle.
He is all alone,
He would not be a battle.
Always the view is beautiful,
So open and free.
Sometimes it is dead,
Yet it lives in me.
The trees are bare,
It is a scene of gray.
Beautiful as it is now,
A blanket of snow on it lay.
Something moves in the trees,
As pale and whispy as the wind.
It will wait in the dark woods,
Until its help it can lend.
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