Wolf

On the day, Luna stands blossomed,

Radiating, and spreading smiles,

Suddenly, the fragrance of the night is interrupted,

By a distinct smell of gore

 

The ruffles in the bushes begin,

Moving silently with the wind,

A twig or two silently cracked,

Increasing the spook of the eventide

 

A silhouette climbs the hill,

And howls to its heart content,

Relishes its anthropoid prey,

And blotches its pearl white teeth with that soft, plasmic fluid

 

When the dawn nears,

The wolf carefully climbs down too,

Back to his burrow, he scurries down,

And lies down, waiting for the sundown bliss