- A poem by Jared Newman, Grade 5
"Quirayen! Quirayen!" They call from the trees,
Those wild-eyed hawks, those warrior bees.
And yet still my life is so glum
Here in the mountains with tips colored plum.
Chickadees gossip, and beavers build dams--
While I sit with my pack eating fresh hunted lamb.
I am Quirayen! Hear the Earth cry;
The sound of my name makes men shout "Why?"
Trees quake, when my pack stars to trot,
Hedgehogs curl up, and leaves start to rot.
Mother bears back away when I move up,
I am the king from buffalo to pup!
I am a wolf! Hear my great howl!
Watch my teeth bite, hear my pitiless growl!
My noble derision conquers all predators;
I share all my game-- there's no mine, there's no yours.
A mantle of shade spread fast overhead,
A howl of despair told me it was my time to lead.
I gathered my pack, and gave them a nod,
That strange howl said something, something quite odd.
Voles awoke at the lament from a long hibernation.
It was the wolf, with which I had a confrontation.
His eyes were blood red, and his teeth showed in his foam-covered mouth,
It was a wolf that I had met in my youth.
The grass tinted red with the blood of his foe,
I saw in his eye he showed anything but woe.
The grass on the fields waved in a zephyr.
The grass spoke to me, as if in a letter.
"Quirayen, Quirayen, your realm is in danger,
Be on your best guard and expect something stranger.
Look for the red eyes, and dark silhouette,
Fight him and live on, and never will you fret."
The spirit of Yellowstone spoke its great augury.
I looked on the psychotic wolf, my pack as the jury.
With soul a shield and hostile howl I engaged in vile battle
I stood at bay to his viscous strike, and didn't rattle.
The contention begun with his teeth into muscle;
I struck back with a bolt of Zeus's hustle.
His teeth were stuck there in my jugular.
My pack moved in and struck my foe with blazing thunder.
A blow of such force couldn't be lethal,
My pack finished the fugitive off in a way very regal.
I died three moons later, this my story I recite from my grave,
A story that is never to ever bring shame,
He wanted my position in the wolf clan.
Greed, something that happens to many a man--
He lost that conflict, and I displayed true virtue,
The wolves call me Quirayen, but Qui'martyr too.
"Qui'martyr! Qui'martyr!" They call from the ground,
Those wild-eyed wolves, those warrior hounds.
And with this story I spoke with a moral so bold,
May it always warn animals of the evil I told.
