This other truth imperils me:
So many wolves part ways across some plain;
I cannot keep them all at once within my sight,
And can't account for those I cannot see.
I may have one beast by the throat, twisting under me,
While his brother's teeth move close across my neck.
I fashion myself into a hunter.
To whom, then, do I turn for mercy?
So many wolves part ways across some plain;
I cannot keep them all at once within my sight,
And can't account for those I cannot see.
I may have one beast by the throat, twisting under me,
While his brother's teeth move close across my neck.
I fashion myself into a hunter.
To whom, then, do I turn for mercy?