Half crippled from birth...Growing old...Envying the young...Hands no longer able to hold the violin I have played quietly all my life...Seeing the eyes of this blue wolf looking toward the sky as if seeking answers to questions he and I do not know to ask...And the bitter irony that I have long used the name Wounded Wolf in my writings ...We are lost kindred, this animal and I... I gaze upon him, listen to this music, and still I wonder to myself, "Why am I crying?"... From The Wounded Wolf
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