The winter wind swept the willows
Off their leafless branches,
Because these crying trees
are bare until springtime.

Asdarkness crept slowly,
The old Dog bayed,
Crying out to all ,
All with whom he played.

Night fell, turning the
Sky to sinister sorrow.
With twinkling stars,
bright against the dark velvet sky.

The icy wind bit at the
Canines body, tearing his
Thin skin from his bony flesh.
Whimpering, whimpering in his
Slumber, dreaming of warmth
That cannot be, flames, Fire.