Puris Omnia Pura

Untouched by forces of the night,
A young boy of only eight
Wandered freely into the park
T'were twelve o' clock, the hour was late.

He came across a wooden bench
And sat awhile, he looked around
The creatures there were fast asleep
The air was still, with not a sound.

But one was not in blissful slumber
A wild wolf grey crept through the night
His motion forward raised not a note,
His ears were perked, his footsteps light.

The boy stepped down off of his seat
And started strolling, gazing meekly
At the clear night sky, ten thousand times his height
The stars and planets shone brightly, deeply.

He lowered his view to river bank
The flowers grew amongst grass unmown.
Whenever seed was blown to ground
The petals of a newborn shown.

The boy turned as sharp motion caught his ear
A dog of the night was coming near
The boy had done nothing in spite
The dog was friend, he had no fear.

As wolf grew closer the boy reached out,
Extending hand towards canine grey
The dog's fangs took arm in mouth
And blood covered both in fierce mêlée.

When morning broke and creatures woke
The boy was laying broken, still.
Blood ran from wrist to shoulder bare
The wound was bad, the boy was ill.

They found him later on that day
And took him to the carer's side.
The day after next they hunted
To collect the grey wolf's hide.

The boy awoke but would not talk
His eyes were bright but soul demure
Trust was not as he thought...

To the pure, all things are pure.