What color red is she, I say.
Her fur so shining-smooth.
It bounces and rolls
like waves of water,
crashing as she runs through the night.
The ginger envelops the currant
while brick-red and crimson latch on.
It's like a dance, I see
the colors woven together so intricately.
She howls her mournful song,
a symphony for those she has lost.
Who does the red wolf yearn for?
Perhaps if I ask, she will tell.