Wolf

His jaws knife-sharp, his eyes frost-cold

His wondrous coat, a thing to behold

His pointed claws grow never numb

For fallen prey, and those yet to come

Across the mountainous, dark landscape

New prey emerges, its pace abates

From a hilltop, like silver rain

The beasts strike, leaving no remains

After finishing off their kill

They return to their den, with lupine skill

Recovering quickly, the animal’s great boon

They run again, howling to the moon

All the beauty and the might

Reflected in the starry night

Nothing else possesses the grace

But the creatures of this race