By Jared at The Great Order




Mother Wolf

Wolf of many hours
your time it moans away,
birth iridescent radiance,
take the younglings
that once strayed.

Bathe them strong
in forest streams.
Raise them, milk them
for the sake.
Keep the spindle turning
though it’s blood that slakes.







Complete archive can be found on the Poems page.

This poem was published in Europa Sun magazine, Issue 5, June 2018


Image: Freedom + Cry, Autumn Skye


Image: Bronze Wolf’s head, 1st century AD







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