Whispers of the Wolf

through shadowed pines and drifting snow a silver ghost moves soft and slow eyes like embers, burning bright a watcher in the frozen night the moonlight carves his silhouette a fleeting shape, a whispered threat not of malice, nor of hate but of a world that seals its fate his voice, a song upon the air a mournful cry, a hunter’s prayer echoing through hollow stone calling kin, yet left alone wild and free, yet chased, betrayed by hands that fear what won’t obey but still he runs, through dark, through light the untamed heart, the soul of night