It was five years ago, this Spring.
He went feral, turned back to nature,
regressed to an easier way of being.
Never stays in one place long,
he’s like a fox in that sense,
uses ‘Lays’ and ‘Stop-Overs’
instead of a single base camp.
Besides, there are hundreds of caves
everywhere up in those hills.
The only time he’s consistent
is upon the first night of the full moon…
you can hear him howling,
guttural groaning and whimpering
from different areas of the forest,
all down this wide Valley.
It was the night he lost poor Cariad
and their baby in childbirth.
The Foot Constables from the Lower Hamlet
try to flush him out from time to time…
over the odd missing livestock and the like…
but, he’s wiser and faster than their wiles.
I’ve never heard of him hurting a single soul…
except, when cornered and escaping.
‘Leave the poor bugger be’ is what I say,
let him grieve and mourn how he must
and live out his days in his own wild way.
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