The Wolf

When I run
on my lonesome path,
when I look up
to the clear white mirror,
what do I see?

Two eyes,
my own reflection,
smiling back at me.

When I hunt
in the dark forest,
when I dance
to the rhythm of the night,
what will my prey be?

My face
in the mirror
is all I can see

When I sing
my longing call,
when I fear
there is nobody,
who will hear me?

The wind,
echo in the woods,
will answer me.

When I stop
following the mirror,
when I will
suddenly leave my path,
when will that be?

The mirror,
it knows, but it
won't answer me.

A/N: I wrote this when I was feeling a bit depressed. I seem to feel depressed a lot lately. And, for those who haven't figured it out yet, by the "mirror" I mean the moon. I wondered what a wolf is feeling when he's howling at the moon, but unfortunately I can't ask one. There were wolves seen in the area of Berlin, it was on the news. Hooray. I really like wolves.