You knew <br />yet, with the brashness of a child <br />you tuned your violin again. <br />Its song diffused <br />through wordless waves <br />to hang <br />from stoic trees <br />where, motionless, <br />brown-feathered owls observe <br />to gather evidence <br />and pass, still in the night, <br />wise judgment to <br />the howling wolves, <br />whose ears now reach <br />and focus in the dark, <br />wrapped in a cloud of pheromones, <br />of instinct from the spirit of <br />fresh endocrines, <br />no critter can resist its lure, <br />no nose refuse <br />the magic of its scent.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich 2<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/of-needful-deeds/
