A wolf wound up the twisted slope,
Its hide gleaming silver and eyes like to sun,
The farther it got the closer it seemed.
Upon reaching the top the beast stood still,
Clouds black as the night's fresh veil,
The mountain it climbed had looked taller before,
But the wolf lost foot as a piece did fall,
And it tumbled head over tail.
Battered and bruised but very much alive,
The peak of the mountain reached above the clouds,
And again the wolf climbed the beaten trail,
For this was all it knew.
