Wolves need our compassion and nothing else

To kill a wild soul
a soul in control
of his place and in fact
his own life
is an ignorant thing
and will only bring
imbalance and physical strife

Hunters are men
who are not what they seem
frustrated
distasteful
they cannot redeem
themselves they are lost
in their own sea of grief
labouring sadly
without a belief

from their semi detached
in their vile little job
in their grey pin tripe suit
they feel like some slob
at weekends they are let out
to go to the hills
or the forest just little boys
having their thrills

at the expense of the wild souls
who are
balanced and happy
and living so far
away from the slob men
but now 4×4’s
and the paraphernalia
that’s when he scores

a chum at his side
and rifle in tow
and the wolves in the forest
all of us know
a risk everything is at risk
telling me
when the hunter stands up
we all can see

the rifle, but nothing behind it
a slob
with the smallest of heart
and the ugliest gob