Walking the back country one day I came
Upon a bear cub surrounded by wolves.

The cub was making slow circles as the wolves
Snapped its thick pelt from behind.

They were playing with it before the kill.
The small bear cried as instinct raised its claws.

I'm no hero. I know this about myself.
But some things are worth dying for.

I ran at the nearest wolf and fell on its back.
My weight drove it snarling to the ground.

I stood with its neck in my hands, broke
It. Threw the wolf into the pack.

They did not remember the bear. It was
Me and the pack and the occasional cloud.

They charged. I bit and stomped. They
Bit and tore. I gouged and swore. They howled and struck.

After it was over, after I was inside the wolves,
We went back for the cub and it was delicious.