The Wolf King
One silent night, in winters hands,
The wolf king howled and cried,
His pack had strode through field and land,
When his merry wolf queen died.
They took a walk, in forests deep,
Went from tree to tree,
Climbed the walls and valleys steep,
But foggy winds made hard to see,
What lay beneath the paws,
Not stick nor stone, nor step,
When suddenly she clasped her jaws,
And fell into a trap.
The wind was howling with the king,
Screaming out his sad uncertain,
When the queen began to sing.
'My beloved king, I have to leave,
I've heard the birds talk in the sky,
Heard the whispering from the leafs.
Was struck with pictures from inside.
Do not follow me in death,
Fate has pledged you greater deeds,
Do not waste time with wrath.
Although yet you are not to see,
The path that winds before thy feet.'
The Wolf King cried in fear and pain,
His sons and brothers screamed and yelled,
No longer they held it sustained,
While the sadness dwelled.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (The Wolf King by Tristan Niggemann )
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Heather Burns
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)