Last wolf. A poem

Paw prints left in soft mud,
crying almost to blood,
and his howl lingers from far away,
telling stories, nothing to do but pray.

A pitter-patter of wolf paws,
last true wolf without human flaws,
and her remembers long ago,
he ran with his pack, even in snow.

And why me? he thought to himself,
last of wolves species, itself!

Times turn to haunted dreams,
is it all just fake memories?
And why me? Why me?

Thought whirls in his head,
almost makes him wish to be dead.
An attempted howl won't raise him soul
until returned.
Is this the only destiny he earned?