by Aniket Pandit

Created on: December 04, 2008

The March of Wolves

There is a goal that I know of,
A place that I must reach,
My paws leave my identity,
On the freezing snow beneath.

I have no pure evidence,
That this place actually exists,
Only a fleeting hope in my heart,
That is too troublesome to resist.

So i breathe the frostbitten air,
Chasing the stars at night,
Howling at the moon,
And bathing in its light.

With every yard I gain,
My fangs begin to dull,
MY fur loses its luster,
As only time can tell.

But endure i must,
Across tenuous sheets of ice,
In the hopes of arriving,
In sunny paradise.

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