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.