Percheron, full of mud and duty, returns to the plow.
Bear, with patient eyes, hears them wonder,
“How is he restrained by such a thin chain?”
Wolf, gone from pack headship, guards hens, soul echoing with moon and forest.
Who will caress the power and recognize its beauty?
Who will acquiesce, slip harness, acknowledge prerogative?
Who will lean in and whisper, “Run”?