The wood is the quiet mass

The wolf steals out of the wood.
He smacks and licks his lips as only he could, contemplating his next meal.
But when grandma and the bloody child
Stagger out, he panics at this sudden exposure and he howls,
As they survey the contents of his
bowels.

“I’ll blow your houses down,” he puffs.

“They’re all wolves like me,” he huffs.

Where is humanity?

The wood can’t see itself for all the trees.

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