He liked walking
among the subtle shades,
the striking nuances
of colours,
the seemingly
countless hues
and the distant sounds
of the jungle,
with its dangers,
known and unknown.

This was part of his life,
his DNA
had been imprinted
with the love,
the unquestioning acceptance
of the wild.
And, for all of his short life
the wind
had always been at his back.

The morning sun in his eyes,
he made swift progress,
it was hard going to climb this hill,
Elephant Mountain they called it
and it soon lived up to its name.

A mother and calf were feeding,
their backs turned, contented giants.
He venture closer, being downwind
and some 70 meters away,

when she turned,
rigidity gripped her body,
ears spread wide,
eyes glowering,
she started trumpeting
and charged,
at maximum speed.

Brave by tradition he called her bluff,
wildly waving his arms,
facing her
in crazy-eyed determination.
She was not to be persuaded
and,
as she caught up with him
she used her trunk
to lift, then toss him,
helpless bundle,
into the tall grass
where he lay still.

Her tusks raised,
she stepped forward
and stabbed them down,
twice.
His eyes closed,
at first from
the piercing pain
and, minutes later
from death.
It was his life
and he would,
gladly,
live it all again.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wind-at-his-back/