Spirit of the Wolf

By Jeff LeMond

A most enchanting moonglow illuminates the mist,

that occupies dark landscapes, unlikely to resist.

A gathering of wolf’s bane blooms in softest lunar light.

Out there amid the darkness, furtive movement in the night.

A primitive reaction invokes a chill along the spine.

Dark and distant lupine howling, everything is fine.

You begin to somehow whistle, as you move along your way.

And cold regret soon makes one wish you took this walk by day.

You tell yourself it’s just the night, not reason for such fear.

But then you hear the breaking twigs as something bad moves near.

Too late to run, nowhere to hide, too scared to make a stand.

With weak resolve you move along, your talisman in hand.

This amulet, this silver coin, this blessed ancient charm.

And as you walk you start to pray it keeps you safe from harm.

And as you walk and say these things, it moves up from behind.

Coming ever closer now, the nearness warps your mind.

Deep and dreadful growling, accompanied by foul breath.

The thing is nearly on you now, About to hand you death.

And as you turn to meet his gaze, and look into those eyes.

You fight back fear and breathe in deep, then much to your surprise.

The wolf thing smiles and turns away, then slowly ambles back.

From where it came it now returns as moonglow fades to black

.

And somewhere in the distant night, you hear his lonely cry.

With darkness now replaced by dawn, though he will never die.

The fullest moon will come again, and with it comes the beast.

A wolf, a man, a devil’s pet, in search of promised feast.

Rejoice you’ve never crossed its path, and pray you never will.

Born from darkest alchemy. It lives, to hunt and kill…

What was that?