Whispers

Come naught still woods with fear,
Tranquil silence ne'er golden here.
When the bane moon be full,
Ye be dreading the pull

Whispers of a feral beast,
On thine, flesh will feast.
Come ne'er at harvest moon,
Hearken a famished croon.

Bleached bones a midnight snack.
Slinking in pitch-shadows black.
None in safe-harbor for she'll come,
Relishing a chase, please run.

Gorging on sanguine gore,
'Neath sharp talons score.
A wolf’s nature eagerly succumbs,
Savoring dire heart strums.

She gleans with a grisly grin,
Reveling wicked carnage sin
A gory disemboweled thrill
Of the frenzied brutal kill.

Naught heed amber eyes
Be I just sizing a prize
So proceed before me, if ye dare,
I ravenously awaiting there.