Poem: The Wolf Moon

Beneath the chill of winter’s breath,
The wolf moon rises, full and deft.
Its silver gaze, both fierce and bright,
Cuts through the cloak of endless night.

In silent woods, the shadows creep,
As wolves begin their ancient sweep.
Their voices echo, wild and free,
A primal song beneath the sea.

The moon, like fire in frozen skies,
Reflects the hunger in their eyes.
With howls that pierce the frozen air,
They call to realms beyond despair.

The snow may fall, the winds may roar,
But through it all, the moon will soar.
A symbol of the wild and free,
The wolf moon calls to you and me.