The Spirit of a Wolf

In the prowess of the untamed wild

Dancing in the once cold world's embrace

On a night so lonely and desolate

With a song so mournful and drear


His golden eyes shining with the light

Of past days and nights of the boisterous hunt

Wolves of red, of gray, of time-left dire

An ancient beat to their flying steps


His pelt flowing with the autumn shadows

Wisdom built on many days of yesteryears

Paw steps heard by only those who will listen

To a faint call that runs with the pack


A world so cold to a man's gentled touch

A song that serenades only the dying day as it ends

A spirit that spins the nature of imagination

And a heart that will never belong to another