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.