𝑶𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅𝒔- 𝙰 𝙿𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔

𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚝

Wrote this on Thursday for Halloween.

The wind it howls
Across the sky,
Hunting, hunting, hunting,
When the pale moon rises
And spirits of the dead come out to play.

Restless, tethered,
All that they can do is ride,
Bound to this howling host
For all eternity.

Duck your head,
Hide inside,
Don't let yourself be seen or heard.
They will find you.

Run, little rabbit, run
'Til the breath leaves your lungs
But you are out of the hunt's reach.
Staring down a spear shaft
Makes fear out of fearlessness.

Perhaps you're a hunter yourself,
But tonight you are the prey,
And they will run you down
Until your foolish mortal legs can't run any longer.

Run, little rabbit, run,
Dive into the thickets of the underbrush
And still your beating heart
As the Wild Hunt draws closer.