The crow recalls the instant first spark caught,
how one bent low and breathed it into light—
she recognized a thief, and what he’d brought:
a stolen sun to blind the coming night.

The whale has heard the ages cross her skin,
from canvas sails to steel teeth built to rake.
She bore the thunder of harpoons going in,
and how the sea fell quiet in their wake.

The wolf recalls the pup who chose to stay,
who traded hunt for scraps beside the fire—
she watched them learn to beg, forget their prey,
and call it love, that collar, leash, and wire.

The elephant has watched the pale ones come
with hollow thunder, taking only tusk.
She touches bone—reads what they’ve undone,
but none are left to answer before dusk.

The bee still searches for the flowers’ hymn,
but finds a ghost-scent clinging, cold and still.
The painted rows shine orderly and grim,
and what she takes for nectar slowly kills.

The dog waits by the door as evening falls,
her bowl is full, his leash hangs by the gate.
The others felt the loss beyond these walls;
she only learned his world, and so she waits.