In this, the Season of Lasts,
how to pluck a First out of the pot,
all new and shining?
The first time Wild Woman woke up,
after years of tapping on the inner bars,
there was a reckoning.
Her hair grew two feet overnight,
her eyes opened, astonished and amazed,
upon a whole new world:
The first of a thousand cackles
filled the air.
A Wild Woman needs a familiar,
and he appeared:
black wolf, hilarious, untamed,
he romped with her joyously
through the landscape of the wild.
Those firsts shine golden
in her memory.
Wild Women grow old.
They get tired.
But they always
for Paul's prompt at Real Toads: Firsts.