A WOLF by Jorge Luis Borges - October 1992





Grey and furtive in the final                     twilight,



he lopes 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 wolf is a shade who runs                     alone



and searches for his mate and feels                     cold.



He is the last wolf in          all of                     Angle-land.