COYOTE
A baby coyote,
High on a mountain,
Dances like leaves
That fall from a tree.
Rolling and tumbling,
Laughing and playing,
Not knowing how lucky
He is to be free.
He calls to the wind,
And sings to the moonlight,
And catches the raindrops
That fall from the sky.
He runs from a squirrel
And chases a grizzly,
And laughs at his shadow
And never asks why.
But the farmers and ranchers
Shoot them and trap them
And try to erase them
From the high mountainside.
Relentlessly stalking,
Remorselessly killing,
Until all the coyotes
On the mountain have died.
But somehow, somewhere...
A baby coyote
High on a mountain,
Dances like leaves
That fall from a tree.
Rolling and tumbling,
Laughing and playing,
Not knowing how lucky
He is to be free.
1975 WingingIt
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Suerrealism