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Picture Credits:
“Well, off you go then!” my Grandmother had tiffed,
and my father’d slogged off thru the powdery drifts
he’d big baked potatoes in both overcoat pockets
to chase away the cold and miserable sniffs.
Scarf wrapped ‘round and ‘round his red, wind-burned cheeks,
It smelled warmly of bacon, toast, grits, eggs and leeks.
Breath pluming like pipe smoke, expelled in his play.
he plunged and shuffled along towards the country road
(lackadaisical progress not unlike a toad),
where the old single horse-drawn neighborhood sleigh
would pick him and some others up for school that crisp day.
Curious about her wild, second youngest son,
Grandma peeked out the kitchen window now and again
to the fields beyond the barnyard where he’d last been seen.
Of his dawdling lazy path she had just taken note
when her heart almost stopped, as it caught in her throat.
A gaunt timber wolf was prowling low in the snow
and stalking her little one quite dreadfully slow.
The wolf crouched way down as he encircled his line;
he’d located a quarry of the most helpless kind.
Gram rushed to the door and she screamed out her lungs,
but the wind wasn’t right and the blizzard’d begun
Completely oblivious, dad tripped unawares -
could have been followed by a pack of grizzly bears.
The wolf knew it too - could smell his dumb innocence,
with a mile to go, before the old hedge row fence.
The closer the wolf got, the greater Grandma’s fear,
but her boy seemed unable or unwilling to hear.
Yet, she ranted and railed in the futile cruel wind.
Came the double run sleigh - six neighbor kids singing,
a sled with brass bells on the harnesses ringing.
The wolf badly startled by this loud sudden fray,
ran deep into the forest – jingle bells saved the day.
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