An eerie brightness cast out by the moon,
Captured the night and hid the stars from view.
A sound was heard they called the dead-mans' croon
A sound as old as time which they all knew.
The wolf stood proud with confidence a swelling,
He called the pack to stand there by his side.
The pungent smell of human scent compelling,
He knew their hunger would be satisfied.
The leader roused his pack so they would howl,
A fearsome sound that petrified and chilled.
With teeth exposed the wolves began to growl.
The waiting men knew blood would soon be spilled.
Guns were raised before the pack came leaping,
They fired off shots, but still some wolves got through.
Jaws clamped tightly but the man was keeping
His finger on the trigger, firing too.
When shooting stopped, they saw the leader standing,
His evil eyes were red with deadly hue.
He called another pack he was commanding,
He was the devil come to take his due.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
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Author Notes
It was the Google illustration that gave me this poem, I like wolves really. :)
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