When frost bites the moon
as she bathes in the snow And ice freezes the flow from her vein When you long to cry out but fear takes your voice Yet you secretly yearn for the pain.When the wind whispers long and low to the night While caressing the star-silvered coats Of four-footed children who thrill to the chase And the surge of warm blood in their throats.When the song of the pack resounds in the woods
And the notes drip, bright red, with the kill
Then you’ll sink to your knees, exhausted, at last
Feel the beat of your heart slow and- still.
Written by Mary Ann Love