Jeff Young

Jeff Young lives in southern Wisconsin with his daughter and fiance, where he writes poetry as a hobby, while working on his first novel.


By: Jeff Young
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The darkest shadows swallow light,
With icy talons gripping tight.
Nothing stirs upon the floor,
As if the forest lives no more.

Amid the sky the faintest breeze,
Kicks up movement from the trees.
Higher yet the clouds give way,
And moonlight turns the woods to day.

Beneath a growing groaning dance,
Of oak and pine in a wind romance,
A beast steps forth with haunting grace,
With steps so light, it leaves no trace.

He swiftly runs the woodland ground,
Then bounds up top a stony mound.
Now bathed in hues of silver light,
wolf stands tall to greet the night.

With mirrored eyes he scans the deep,
Takes in his world in one fell sweep.
His gaze soon turns up to the moon,
As he conjures up his ancestral tune.

The cry is echoed throughout the trees,
And carried far upon the breeze.
He is searching for just anyone,
To know he is not the only one.

Soon enough he hears them all,
As many wolves return the call.
One last howl soars through the air,
As he tells them all he will soon be there.

The wind picks up and the trees groan more,
As the wolf bounds back to the forest floor.
The clouds now gather and mute the light,
As he slips back off into the night.


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