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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Obrigado pela opinião. : p