My Poem (Untitled)

about some wolf cubs.

Speak gently, spring, and make no sudden sound;

For in in my windy valley yesterday I found

New-born wolves squirming on the ground-

Speak gently.

Walk softly, March, forebear the bitter blow;

Her feet within a trap, her blood upon the snow,

The four little wolves saw thier mother go-

Walk softly.

Go lightly, Spring, oh, give them no alarm;

When I covered them with boughs to shelter them from harm,

The thin red cubs suckled at my arm-

Go lightly.

Step softly, March, with your rampant hurricane;

Nuzzling one another, and whimpering with pain,

the new little wolves are shivering in the rain-

Step softly.