In the cold silence
of the Northern night
a spirit glides;
slinking through the purple shadows
of the spruce that spread like bruises
on the skin of falling snow.
A timber wolf howls to the unanswering moon;
the silver-coated phantom,
last survivor of his tribe,
must pay the price
for the wilderness flowing in his veins;
those fires of freedom
burning in his blood and bones.
with wisdom and ferocity glowing in his golden eyes,
that in his noble, independent pride;
the lone wolf cries alone … .