"Why I Love This Wild Animal" Poetry Contest Winners

Thank you to all of our amazing writers for submitting their poems to the contest! With so many great poems about why you love our Indiana wildlife, it was hard to choose. A special thank you to Indiana Poet Laureate Shari Wagner and poet Kyle Craig of the Indiana Writers Center for participating in the contest.  Shari will be visiting the schools of the winning poets! 

Read all the poems, organized by the group or organization who submitted them: Girl Scout Troop 2501, Hoosier Academy, Perry Central Junior-Senior High School, Girl Scout Troop 119, Montessori School of Greater Lafayette, the Children's House, and Unionville Elementary School.

The two winning poems are from Mari, a fourth grader at Unionville Elementary School and Amani, an eighth grader from Perry Central Junior-Senior High School. Read them here!

Little Cardinal
By: Mari

Little cardinal,
Soaring through the sky,
Your feathers are the sunset,
Your golden beak in the sunlight I spy.

Please accept this crumb of bread
So when you go to bed,
You'll feel happy and fed,
Like me.

Little music maker,
Tweeting like a machine gun,
You stand proud as a red flamingo,
Boldly singing like a flute,
There alone in the sparkling snow.

Reaper of Wisdom
By: Amani

He slinks along the cold, damp ground, shimmering in midnight dew,
Watching the world with yellow eyes, alone before a waving prairie sea.
He walks among the stars and moon, he has treaties with the night,
He comes from the Kingdom of Wild Creatures - and the House of Barking Dog.
The coyote needs no riches, his hunger lies solely in his prey,
He sees no value in vast power, he has no thirst for great control.
He has no use for golden things, nor for green, thin papery things,
Nor must he carry the binding obligation of needing to be somehwere.
Now he walks in thick, dark solitude, alone save the endless sky,
And he hears no longer the wily footfalls of his comrades in the mist.
He slowly lifts his wild head, and sends a message, sharp and shrill,
Through the fragile midnight air to his packmates that surround him.
Soon he hears their voices, a chorus of cold and cliver knives,
That tears the lingering fog to shreds and halves the velvet night.
Hunt, hunt, they call to him as he glides into the grass,
Beneath the curious and wavering moonight.
Run, run Brother of the Wolf.