A WOLF by Jorge Luis Borges - October 1992



Grey   and

                    furtive

in the final twilight,

he   l o p e s by,

leaving his spoor along the bank

of this     nameless river     that has quenched the thirst of his throat, these waters that repeat

no   stars. Tonight,

the w o l f     is a shade who runs

alone

and searches for his mate

and feels cold.

He is the   l a s t   wolf in all of Angle-land.