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The Return Of The Grey Brethren
In the half light, half night of the blood moon they came,
Fractious and bickering, a wild snarling and whickering,
They pursued the old lame mare. Who'd never seen a wolf before, but her instinct was all there.
With the baying of the yard dogs and a single warning shot, They were gone.
The mare didn't see the month out, they knew it was her time.
Just grey hair tangles on the paddock fencing,
A pugmark, the two swans from the mill fleet, now missing,
And the badly scarred face and neck of a young Roebuck.
But I'm glad they're back and I wish them every luck.
