The White Hound Comes...

I’ve met the slow White hound I’ve heard his haunting howl prowl through November air I shook his frigid paw that came when bones were bare. A gusty, spectral thief of moments far too brief his whispered pants enticed and plumy tails left scrawls a-tangle over ice. He yelped a quick harangue and pointed crystal fangs he stole the autumn rays denying hope of thaw so glints of warmth would fade. He shed his shadows here and made gooseflesh appear, he sketched on windowpanes etched tales with frigid claws of colors he had slain. I wandered through the breadth of chilling, hunter’s breath where daggers hung on eaves and sawed the North wind raw and browned the autumn leaves. I’ve been surprised by bites his glacial appetite and found his muted dye, a blinding livid shawl O’er corpses petrified. I’ve heard the White Hound moan and chew on arbor bones and shivers seized my spine, tight-clenched within his jaw as Winter swathed my mind. experimental rhyme scheme: Stanza 1 -aabcb Stanza 2 -ddece Stanza 3 -ffgcg Stanza 4 -hhici Stanza 5 -jjkck Stanza 6 -llmcm Stanza 7 -nnoco