The air is cold the night is still,
A cold moon overlooks the chill.
Stealthy movements in the night
Loping in the moons gaunt light.
Low to ground and gait so slow,
Through the fog two red orbs glow.
A hunter in the night serene,
Hunger driven lithe and lean.
Lone wolf prowling in the dim,
Bloodlust, and his purpose grim.
Padding over frosted ground,
Hunts his prey and makes no sound.
Waiting for the slightest hint,
a trace of movement or a scent.
Instincts drive this beast of prey,
to hunt by night and sleep by day.
Heed the call the hunger brings,
Until the morning glory sings.
Movements of his padded feet,
Right in rhythm with heartbeat.
No malice in his simple mind,
Only hunger there will find.
Swift and silent as the breeze,
His hunger he can not appease.
From the wood is flushed a fawn,
Lightning quick the chase is on.
Speed and cunning without sound,
Fang and fury bring her down.
Bloodlust’s passion claims the beast,
Rents and tears it’s newfound feast.
And though he feeds tonight he knows,
He shall again feel hungers throes.
Now as he rests he hears the tune,
Begins his howling at the moon.
