Listening in pitch black
To the wolves outside my tent.
They have the voice that I lack
The voice they have was sent.
They sing their song so neatly,
So high-pitched and so serene.
They don’t seem to do it discreetly
And their voices do careen.
They sing their song forward and back
Making a beautiful choir.
The song is beautiful within the pack
Like the comfort of a warm fire.
Tonight, nothing could go wrong,
May the howl in my mind, I keep.
The Wolves’ beautiful song
Seems to put me to sleep.
And with my sled that I steer
I go off with my dogs of ten.
Oh, I hope I can hear
The Wolves’ Song again.
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