The White Wolf

The summer grass is dead and gone,
and now the wolf is here
It's claws strike deep in ancient bones
to feed on pain, and fear.

The children play at winter games
but they do not venture far,
For his icy fangs hang from the trees,
like shards from distant crystal stars

Its white and pristine fur lays soft, like feathers on the ground.
Its northern voice is growling, a sad, yet angry sound.
Yes, every year the white wolf comes, and tries to eat us all.
And even Eagle, high above, will shudder at its call.

But safe within my fathers lodge, a fire, warm and bright.
The lodge skins made from buffalo, will keep us warm tonight
And we'll tell tales to honor wolf, a great and mighty foe
but we will live, and wolf will die......
It always happens so.