Here It Comes

Moonlight, Wolf (1909) by Frederic Remington

Moon stained leaves of ghostly grandeur

Dome the starry night as a crypt

Erected long ago to shelter and immure

The souls of sojourning derelicts.

Here he comes.

He strikes a fire in that haunted grove 

And smooths a nest in her tall grass.

As an animal he roves

For game hidden in the brush.

Here it comes.

A chill settles on his camp,

One the flames cannot not lick away.

Two yellow eyes appear like lamps.

The trees shutter with voyeuristic delight.

There he goes.