The wolfs cry

The moon shines only by crescent
in the pitch dark of night
as she trembles slow
leaving all but crimson snow tailing behind.

A trail of hate and destruction
left by the parasite known as man,
her head hangs down now
nothing left not even a plan.

Snowflakes land with a gentle touch
melting upon her nose like a spark
ignites the strength that once flowed
like the rage In her heart.

In the silence of the shadows,
an echo of a howl,
may this rip through the forest
as the wild fire growls.

Then she lifts her head high
towards the stars she can spy,
eyes emptied of fear
as there falls her last tear.

She is one and forever
the forest and air,
a battle never one but
forever in despair.