Silver eyes gleam of what is lethal,
brutal beauty to be admired,
yet to fear is to be wise.
She is a single coat of white,
Illuminated only by the silent moon's light,
The witness to a ghost's passage.
A swift traveler, she continues on,
The silent land,
Awe struck in her silent passing.
The lone wolf howls,
Never to be answered by her fellows,
Her track a single winding trail.
Packs cry their own pleas to the earth,
Seeking the rivers of life that run wild and free,
Yet the earth only replies to the silent one as she travels.
Some believe she is the ghost of a great huntress,
Whose fangs never failed to capture their prey,
Yet alone she was then as she is now, alone as the sentry moon.
Perhaps she prowls in the hope of reunion with one,
Who held her heart once and only once,
Taken away by cruel fate.
So is her lone cry to the moon a call to the past,
A begging for the one she loved,
To return to her, as the moon calls to the earth?
When fate will see fit that those parted be reunited,
Time itself only knows,
But look upon the moon and listen to the silver cry of grief.
Should you fear the lonely hunters voice?
Or perhaps the own shadows that crowd the human heart are to blame,
Yet spare a thought to the silver eyes of loneliness.