A bear alone, without her cub,
no sight or sound, no love to give –
no sight or sound, her lonesomeness,
some nights she spills her will to live.
A bear alone, (as though we’re one)
in the steepest vale ‘neath tall dark green,
around (us) bowing arrows wait,
around (us), hunters aim unseen.
‘tween graves in fog, and angels in mist,
and only (our) hope breathing life
in faith for sons who dwell with those
with sight and sound, ‘tween day and night.
Let arrow fly and strike its mark,
let blood flow free and breathing cease,
let hunters cheer they felled the (bear),
whose cub romps free, ‘tween man and beast.