On a Blue Mountain,
Is a spirit of solemn essence.
Sly, covert, instinctive, limber,
The wolf: totem of woodland timber.

Amidst this nocturne hymn,
Nature paints a nightly picture.
The celestial ceiling, outstanding.
Silver light cuts through, shining.

Treading a shadowy ambiance,
One couldn't help but notice.
Fleeting gaze; senses were stolen.
T'was the Moon: the twilight emblem.

On a Blue Mountain, perched,
Sights, unto the cosmic blanket.
Entranced by Lunar glimmer,
The wolf is left to a whimper.

Alas! Grip of morning is nigh.
The Moon, majestic, cosmic,
With impenetrable intent,
Hath no time for earthly descent.

Time is an abrupt occurrence,
The earth, it turns; time, it burns.
For the wolf, t'was sole clarity:
This brief elation is worth his sanity.

The wolf had hoped illustriously,
That he loom to newfound solace,
But can only accept in frustration,
The reality of his damnation.

Hence, on this Blue Mountain,
A final bask in adoration,
A final effort, rising to his feet,
Howling to the Moon he'll never meet.