Calling of the blood
Short drabble poem about werewolves
I hear the howling of the pack
In the still dead of the night
I feel myself going back
To days far out of sight
Once a wolf I can't return
Or see the next coming day
On through the night the wolf will turn
I'll be back to my old ways
I hear it like a battle cry
It calls me in its wake
Reasons that I don't know why
I know it's just not fake
Phases of the moon above
I howl at it's glow
Like white wings of a newborn dove
These nights are which I know.
