Hibernate
I hesitated, churned inside,
but left my den at last.
I did not stray too far away—
I turned to check the past.
"It's there, it's there," I told myself—
I really thought I knew.
Just past the hill my den still stood,
still safe, still warm, still true.
I went around the winding bend
and headed down the way.
I found a tree with markings scored—
and there she stood, that day.
Why had I left? I asked myself.
Perhaps her scent was sweet.
Perhaps my den could be replaced,
or filled to feel complete.
For long she marked me as her own—
then suddenly, a roar.
She marked again, then roared once more,
till fang and claw both tore.
I'm home again, beside my den—
the dank, the dark, the none.
Each step was slow, each paw was worn,
but safe, my journey done.