My little wolf cub stares with gray and white affection.
One day he'll be gone. When I leave the world no-one will value him, will understand the emotion he encapsulates, a gift from a sweet girl who loved me decades ago, whose love he still carries.
The person who empties my house will throw him on the trash pile, where he'll rot amid fruit rinds and couch stuffing.
Change is bad.
Change is all there is.