He walked out of his den
Sighing heavily into the frosty forest air
Watching his breath vanish before him
All he could do was stare
He stared at the white tipped trees
He stared into nothing at all
Just to stare to see
See the white tipped trees
He stared until his eyes watered and burned
He looked away and slowly turned
Hewn together, nature with nature
He felt the presence of a stranger
The presence was deep within his soul
A presence that had turned into a hole
A hole deep withing the grey wolf's heart
Slowly but surly tearing him apart.
He cried in spite of himself
To mourn the feeling of feeling himself
He began to dream of escape
He began to dream he was great
In his own eyes and of those around him
He began to dream.
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