A lone wolf haunts the darkness, sniffing out the killing bite,

Searching for a hole in the void, the black this cold, cold night,

For she is the very soul of the wild with her teeth and claws,

An unkindness of ravens circles with its grating, "Caws."

 

But she welcomes the sound, her paws at the ground muffled by the din,

As she, the silent grey, has caught a familiar scent on the wind,

Eyes and ears locked, all other things blocked, she zones in,

The centre of the night, in sight, she can begin.

 

As a shadow moves over the loam she silently skims,

Her prey there, unaware, of her silent whims,

It doesn't even realise that she's there in the night,

Softly approaching, against the wind, for the killing bite.

 

Then at last, there where all is calm and all is still,

The smallest sound upon the ground, she leaps to kill,

And in the dead of this cold, translucent night,

The silent grey brings hush, with the killing bite.