The lonely cries of a roving pack
echoed across the hills.
At the sound she felt a bitter chill
in the lonely Adirondack.
She turned to lift the babe
who started in her fright.
Fear is so very easy in the night
until she stirs upon his tread.
Bursting through the oaken door
he filled the room with strength.
Hearty laughter at length
banishes fear evermore.
“Hear you,” he inquired,
“the sounds of our brothers?”
“Nay,” yet she wondered,
what had transpired.
“The joyful spirits wild,
of the wolves upon the prowl.”
“I reveled in the howl
of another wilderness child.”
Fear, he knew, was within her breast
and share of his courage he would.
“We and they, well, we really should,
feel akin, to have passed freedom’s test.”
To survive, to thrive, to feel alive;
with no overlord to please.
In lonely independence we find release
and allow our spirits to revive.