Sample Sunday

The wolves




Echoes in the dark -
The cries of the lost
Wolves running
In the clear, still night,
Beneath a cold moon
That glares down
On their forest run.


Eyes glinting
Ears pricked
Feet soundless,
Chasing sounds
Heard but unseen.


The moon glows,
Sheds its white
Misted half-light
On their trail
Weaving a path
Long travelled;
Anew but old.


The wise linger
In green lands,
Their spirits running
Free in the form
Of the wolf.


Wildest of the
Wise we chase
Beneath the glow
In the damp heart
Of the spectre wood,
Listening to the still
Night that hears.


Learning anew
The chase of old,
Streaking the earth
With fresh trails;
Distancing the ages
Long gone.