The Wolf


Black and silver rugged fur,
Shone dimly in nighttime blur.
Pale moonlight gently trickled down.
With padded paws, he made no sound.

His yellow eyes sparkled brightly.
A hunter, yes, but not unsightly.
His body moved with graceful power,
As night approached the witching hour.

He maneuvered to his favorite spot.
Standing far above shrubs and rocks.
With teeth barred, he snarled fiercely.
His snout shot up, his howl piercing.

Soon the sound faded to black.
Listening closely, his ears went back.
At last he heard his brothers sing,
With their cries, he knew that he was king.

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