Blacktail Deer Plateau To be a poet is a condition...

... not a profession. By Robert Graves. @Arcturus ! Halloween themed!

Wraen had ventured to the edge of the plateau - for a wolf, who loved to have everything in clear view and who could observe the area for hours at time, the western border was true gem. Where the treeline ended, there was a fantastic panoramic view of the flatlands below. There she could see the deer herds grazing and moving, sometimes she would spot a single dark figure treading in a straight line - one of her kind on the prowl. And then there were days like these, when the lands there were just as calm, peaceful and eventless as it was up here.

Since Wraen's mind was never idle, where there was empty room in the reality, there her imagination kicked in and filled the place with colours, shapes and figures. Presently, while her eyes traced the wintry landscape, her lips were moving soundlessly, as if she was telling herself a story. Now and then she would chuckle and smile to herself, there would be moments, where her forehead creased and she appeared to be thinking hard. Right words would always come along sooner or later. So, those moments of intense problem-solving were few. 

"Good, jolly Peter,
Was some eater.
He finished bison-e,
Quite alone.

But story's not done,
There's more to tell,
He met someone...
Who cast a spell!"

Wraen's tail tapped merrily behind her, as she tackled the first two paragraphs of the silly rhyme. It did not by any means belong to the heights of poetry, but it was her creation and that was all that mattered.