Victory cries on lofty emerald fields

in grunts and battle calls,

low to the ground,

just under the line.

Colored poppies in formation

until

the wind cracks—

Petals fall as sturdy stalks collide.

And like a wolf’s song

carries for miles and miles,

swift and clear in intention,

the pack ascends

as one

to claim tribute.

Please subscribe to keep reading.