Prey's Moon

April 29, 2013
The soft glow of the frosted moon

Glistened upon the wolf’s silvery fur.

Hiding in the darkened bushes

In the hushed forest.

Ready to pounce on its grand prey

For a feast its pack will never forget.

At last, the prey is in sight

And with one long howl the pack emerges from the shadows.

One at a time, each wolf’s claw digs in the prey’s crimson flesh,

With blood trickling as if it were tears.

With a final screech of defeat, the beast falls at their paws

Dying on the forest’s floor.

Howling with satisfaction of their kill,

The pack carries off their prey ready for a filling meal.

The alpha remains back and peers into the clear, star-scattered sky

And with one final howl, he mourns and prays for the prey’s soul.

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