Through moonlit ghost lined woods

Where whipping branches

Scratched my eyes

Tore fragments from my cotton dress

To leave as ribbons

Blowing free

A trace, a mark

To follow me

And reaching down I felt the fur

Smelt the stench of fear

As death was stalking

Walking near

And then I ran

Flying feet, a pounding beat

As sentry trees

Listened to this

Last retreat

Of walking wolves

And far flung fools

I joined the ghosts of silver dreams

And answered calls

I didn’t mean

Just walking wolves

And talking fools

©EMG05