The Wolf

The wolf is free, everlasting wild
Running in the charcoal lake of shadows
He sees in the dark, his temper is mild
Stalking his prey in unguarded meadows

Telling his woes to the full,distant moon
Dashing along fast in the bright moonlight
Sleeping during the hour that's called noon
Running freely in the fresh,constant night

Fur of gray steel and eyes of emerald green
Howling in his intense lonely sorrow
His hunting skills are indredibly keen
The sound chill bones to the marrow

Beauty, grace wit mighty strong paw, not hoof
My words can only describe the proud wolf