(16) It Was Mating Season Poem by J.B. LeBuert

The villagers were up in arms again with dread.
After burying the feisty artist, some said,
that it's about time, every damn wolf should be dead.
They vowed to slaughter all the wolves, before they spread.

The Hewolf was on the trail of the small wolf pack.
The Shewolves were running, but he could really track.
He knew he wanted to mate with these fleet wild beasts.
Together they would have wolf cubs and many feasts.

He grew ever closer on the scent of their trail.
He ran like the wind and over swamps he did sail.
He came upon them on one moonless foggy night.
He was much larger than them and caused them much fright.

Hewolf grabbed the Shewolf mother by her strong neck.
The daughters cowered and held their anger in check.
Hewolf was dominant and he would win the day.
The mating began that very night, come what may.

They were a four pack again for the time being.
The pack was stronger now, but they were still fleeing.
They had lost the crazed humans, now seeking their blood.
They had to stay out of sight, until the spring flood.

Hewolf would soon mate with all three of the wild beasts.
This pack was still hunted by heathens, without priests.
He impregnated them all and now was quite glad,
that he had trailed them so far; now he'd be a dad.

They setup a cave, found by the Hewolf sprinter.
They would stay here, warm and safe, all through the winter.
The game was scarce, but enough to hunt and to slay.
The three Shewolves grew fat, with more pups on the way.

They waited until the mothers could reproduce,
to travel many miles, where the game was profuse.
So they stayed at this cave; there was a good reason.
The pack would now expand, It Was Mating Season.