not one of the moon's mystic seas is filled with their yelping
though those haunting harmonies save me from solitude on the naked prairies
the sky, cold, awash with wispy clouds, carries their sour song, a dirge no creatures emulate
like they, I howl at the proud wolf moon; it ignores me as it does them, but ‘tis regally round for only a blink in time, then mournful as it wanes to penumbra in earth’s shadow
the wild dogs and I cease our serenade, but wait in darkness to cast another refrain when the ornery orb again filches the dying sun’s light