~ Poetry by me ~
Poetic form: Sonnet
This giant wolf, he still was pup to me;
IŽd throw a stick and he would fetch a tree.
The others feared his hunger deep and raw,
while I in play would often grasp his maw.
A different sort of game I came to play:
For safetyŽs sake his trust I should betray,
not for what he had done, but he might do;
and for his freedom pledged my hand in lieu.
That part of me heŽd keep, if nothing more;
like him, in years to come IŽd miss it sore.
Six things that cannot be wrapped him in chains;
the seventh, justice, unmentioned remains.
My choice was clear, with all the worlds at stake:
That bond, as it tied him, made ours break.
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