Werewolf
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Thick, black clouds gathered overhead,
veiling the moonlight with guise dread.
Wind weaves with howls, and spies embed
a gaunt hollow man in its stead,
lifting his black mound shroud a ted,
refusing to release its dead.
Strain, he stands searchingly ahead;
pain screams rip from his throat and bled.
A stir in the air dares to sped
on as he falls to his knees unfed.
10/11/2017
Copyright © Eve Roper | Year Posted 2017
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