The head of the wolf snarled towards in an instant of power
The eyes glowed silver grey in the cool October moonlight
A snarl received from a hungry head when it nears time to feed
Fear creeping and crawling through every limb takes away the luxury of walking
Hungry fangs begin to salivate
Power of the night shimmers from the lone hunter as it darts towards supper
The taste of fresh blood on the tongue reminds the killer of the glory of life and
A copious feast without gratitude to the life of the fallen foe
A bloody red jaw against pure white snow
The head of the wolf has death eyes you know.
I love poetry.