the wolf
#2 of poetry
more of my old poetry
The Wolf
There stands my wolf softly in the midnight air
Ebony with fur as soft as the moon light
I know him not by nights snare
But by the dream that lies in there
There walks my wolf in the dawn air
Steps a paw as soft as snow
Drifting towards my where
As I sit by streams placid flow
There sits my wolf in noon air
As I stare he agrees
He lays his head with the ease and sweetness of a fresh picked pear
He seems to dream of soft spring breeze
There lays my wolf in twilight air
I stroke his fur with a softness beyond compare
Once again I am trapped in his dark stair
And a warm pink tongue pets me back