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

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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