Isle of Bras d’or

The boredom overtook him… Near the Isle of Bras d’or.

He wished upon a falling star, but no one knew what for.

The snow fell high upon the land, the spirits they grew low.

The booze ran out before the food, and the restlessness did grow.

The Wolf’s heart it grew weary. So he headed for the door.

He headed out into a storm, off of the Isle of Bras d’or.

The Wolf he kept on walking, through the snow and through the pain.

He wasn’t going back he knew, with no reasons to explain.

Sometimes these things just go that way, no one knows what for.

The Wolf he left the pack behind, near the Isle of Bras d’or.

Dennis Ryan

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