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.