The Hunt

October 22, 2007
By
Beneath the wild, bloody moon
Flicker our blazing, yellow eyes,
Through shadows deep and looming gloom
We've prowled swiftly beneath the sky.

The trees stand tall, barren and proud
Sentinels of woods and keepers of time,
Our tracks a whisper and never so loud
As we skulk about the wardens of pine.

Seasons bequeath their feelings to us
Summer long gone, its merriness lost,
Winter is upon us; is the hunt a bust?
Will the wild show us just who is boss?

Our pack is one
Shaggy, gray fur swaying,
We are mighty and strong
But our quarry is raging.

The fight is at hand
Against the bison so grand
Will our pack prevail, our little band?
Will we become the fiercest in the land?

Our brothers fight
Ripped and torn, the bison is done,
And our sisters delight
Ravaged and worn, the hunt is won.

Our pack is one
As we feast upon flesh and gore,
With bloody mouths, we howl on bones
And then we run forever more.





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