Heard that lonesome coyote cry last night,
only trees within view of homesite.
Restless whimper, I imagine along the shore,
longing for her, wailing once more.
Love nor hate, I might disagree,
for that wailing seems a cry to me.
A cry for love, a life to pursue,
for there is a cycle to travel through.
Traveling alone is never meant to be,
each needs to be held tenderly.
Balanced all in Creator's theme,
he'll know when his mate is seen.
© June 21, 2011 Windswept