Literature
For The Wolves.
They come every winter, there for every Christmas.
But in the summer, they always go.
Where are you wolves? Why hide your pelts?
I hear your song into the night, calling the moon down.
Why do you have a wolfs face, with such human eyes?
Why didn't you kill me those years ago?
Why does the yellow eyed wolf always watch me from the safety of the woods.
Always close, always around.
I long to run with the wolves, to run my hand through my wolfs ruff.
To smell his musky scent.
I long to see the golden woods from my dreams.
To let my own sorrows be heard in your beautiful song.
I crave to be in your pack, close as family, maybe more.
Now that I'm