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Hungry Wolf

There was a rumble the air seem to tumble, the heavy cold was blasting bold.
The sun was consumed with clouds of dark, like the massive arms of the oakwood bark.
The lazy hours of snow dust drift in its haunting thrust.
The day is a mere lighter shade of grey when night charcoal winds spin in midnight's display.
The timber wolf in the forest tears is gnawing hunger in shrieking, shrills, to mark a needed kill.
Deep in the hour life will surface in primal power.
The eclipse will drink the shadow's wine and cross a hidden line.
A pause of light reforms in time, seeking prisms soft refine.
The forest wakes to give and take, and Earthly ground begins to quake.
The forest holds no pride when the silver wolf halts his stride.
The swine are slain and hunger of the wolf becomes a forgotten pain.
The night that prowls in distant howls;  is not in vain.
The woodland grows from the primal stain.
Life of the wild is sustained.
The night of snow will turn to, "blood rain."

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Hungry Wolf