Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Ravings of a Rabid Werewolf - Poetry by Wolf - 29. The Land
The land is in his blood
Or is it his blood in the land
He works from dawn 'til dusk
Tending to his cattle and fields
A cold Northwest wind blows
As grey storm clouds build in the sky
White flakes begin to fall
Making him pull his hat down low
He speaks softly to them
Petting his old friends as he passes
Each one special to him
More than just his livelihood
The chestnut horse moves on
His man sits tall in his saddle
Both are in perfect sync
From years of this daily routine
Like the rivers and streams
Which crisscross this magical place
The life of this vast land
Flows through the body of the man
- 5
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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