In the middle of winter,

Its home is ruined



Leafs of pages,

catch them all ablaze.

Burning purple, blue, and white.

Ashes of gray float down with the snow.

And smoke rise high above the peaks of mountains and trees.

All falling down in heaps.



Cracks of thunder dance across the and skim the moons.

Thunder roars it’s mighty roar.

Rain falls a little too late.



Screams of terror echo in caves.

And they’ll cry out to the moons.

Lost without words.

Loneliness burns inside them like stomach ulcers.

Black and white honey and gold and silver like the moon.

It prances to find it’s way.

Only one way to find out,

Wolves.