Onto the next one,
This'll be the best one--
Funny how it's you again,
Wrapped in an awful loop again,
Needn't talk about the last one,
We're onto the next one,
And this,
Will be,
The Best One.

Birds, Herds, and Herbs converge,
Within weeds and trees-- some evergreens,
These roisterous worlds, a wonderous sight!
The flume of art and the womb of life.

But what if I were to say,
This rite has grown dull,
For the true beauty,
Lies in your soul.

Indeed! It's true! You're full of hue,
A teeming world resides in you!
Your body, mind, all shaped by time,
Host to shine of different designs,
Friends, foes, and fair alike,
Within your bounds, have made a life.

So know this well, embrace the view--
The universe is part of you!

Pangs of passion,
Flood through your fangs,
Heavy your head now hangs.

Banish these thoughts!
As you BANG-- your head--
Again--
Again!
Against the wall.

But hunger won't fade,
Nor the scent of the hen,
It lingers, it clings,
You can't help but recall,
A whisper, a wing,
Her breath, her call.

The Wolf, it hungered, while you stayed warm,
Bound to its pack, shaped by the storm,
Through frost and through famine,
The Wolf, it did suffer, while The Dog lay secure.

But when disaster did strike, stealing Dog's home,
She was left to the frost, forsaken, alone,
She wandered as prey, and trembled in fear,
Until one day, she saw naught but a pack,
Warm, safe numbers, a home-- one she lacked,
And so she found herself The Wolf,
Mercy, she asked, May I join your pack?

The Wolf, it snarled, when she begged for stay,
Herald The Dog who yearns for warmth!
When she had comfort when we had naught!
The Dog bowed her head, but she could not,
Explain to The Wolf what it owed her not.

The Dog, she wandered, searching for fire,
But the world was not warm as her home had once been.
So she carved her own pack,
Starved through the winter,
Charged into battle, unraveled by the years,
And so came to be, The Dog was assured,
That in her place, The Wolf endured.

The misery in my chest,
Reeks as if it be,
The shivery shame one feels,
When perched before a class--
Of peers whose keener eyes,
fitter thoughts,
and witter words,
Dowse one in distress,
For my eyes are weary,
My mind unwound,
And my words, but a wheezing sound.