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Autumn's breath blows colors of death, Shades of winter's birth. Transformation seizes. Lunar rays grasp the limbs, Forest cries out and finds the wind, Which shakes it of its fear. Winter wind, graveyard friend, Sing to the forests of icing. Tomb's chill fills the air, It will not be much longer. Coarse hair seeps through flesh, Fangs are born in screams of agony. Milky, yellow, sleepless eyes See through distorted light. The harvest is ripe, Night is dark and heavy With the breathing of the werewolf. |