Paws lurking on the snowy crevice, a vicious hunter in the midst of an apocalypse
How daring it is that the jaws of somewhat, a beautiful demon would be able to conquer anything
On the snowy north, it lives...Behind the vast tundra, it awaits; and its so-called prejudice is there for the late.
In the night, the King of the Wild North prowls looking for its prey; the king's delay is set for the prey; the king plays the prey.
Around the vast north it travels and in it; shines its eyes against a reluctant eye that soon will be lit.
The long, plain – but beautiful – fur has shown the world the beauty of the wilds.
While that fur glides onto the dawn of the morning river, it rests on the rocks looking at the morning star, no shiver as though without fever.
Dreams of having its fur brushed thoroughly, and in the common scene, it flies up to the clouds, having its own world come true.
Its howl rests on its mood as the howl's nature reaches the other's venture; for in a holy night, it preaches; in a sorrowful day, it strengthens; and, in everyday, it makes its own sentence.
Feet walking in the middle of a snowy forest; in the forest of its own solitude lives; in the mounts of an icy cavern, it sleeps.
The short whisk of its breath, the tear-dropping eyes and the isolation have been its life all along; within its pack, it grows and huddles around.
And, at last. The cold, sad aura exploded with howls as power is nigh; the night that makes it 'king' once again.
Paws are large, paws are fast; riding towards the beauty of the dusk, the symbol of the night has appeared.
And, in the night, it once again makes its appearance.
Leading its whole pack towards food as it is to us that is a success; greatly conquering the heart of the feisty caverns.
Its heavenly dreams fall to all, and the life of the woods come back once again; should its mind return, it will never be bent once again.
Thou art it makes instigates the passion; one step to another, the rule becomes its function.
Swaying as its fur has glided through the dawn past dusk, and again, it is nigh; the flow of the wind, graceful as its white and grey fur resembling beauty
The music from afar enriches its glow as the white clouds must've engaged around it; there making a new beginning.
The flowing stream can be remembered as dawn's manor; as the period has been heaven, and will continue to be. What purity the morning river and the morning star have made.
And, come the new beginning for the vast northern world; a splendor the same as the king's white and grey fur, the house of a thousand animals, and the temptation of the mutual beast that lives inside us.
Wolves, to all people, they are an unknown species in both lifestyle and emotions. But, think of them as one of us, let the northern world preach your mind, and go to the world where wolves live.
Please remember that these poems are made by me and not copies from others.
Hope you like it!!!❤❤❤
