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.