Snow in the forest; the timber wolf wakes,

his pelt all but covered in white

Crystalline glare at the crystallised flakes;

It’s cold but the cold doesn’t bite

He bares all his fangs in a hideous grin

(but to him it is naught but a smile)

He stands up and stretches, then runs like the wind,

his gait eating mile upon mile

The lone wolf keeps going, leaves all things behind,

to him it is not about fun;

The beat of his paws echoes deep in his mind:

Run, forest, run, forest, run!