Within the woods; within the timber, the wolves will howl.
Into the night as they stalk the lands; freely as it is there home.
Come by there is of thy lonely wander; foolishly walking.
Come see, the final act; blink once and one will miss thy.
Corner up surrounded by the sky rims; once more caring of following senses, leaving little to be unseen.
Care little of what’s to come; foolish one dare to tread off a path, not near fit for thy.
Into the woods of night; feasting on the dumb wander.
Who dare think past is forgotten; future means all; and what leads for now . . .
Is for one own judgment day.
And a day not soon for lead unease for any; besides thy!
But hark the follow moon; a shallow mourn of morn; as her pestering brother comes.
Blinding the beasts; lack that of hungry will not be given, for soon another night will come!
Wander be thankful of this sudden chance of life; as does heavens seen no other, to come.
Thy linger eye, will watch as I; will end ye little wander of a broken path.
As that path was made for only one; dare not leave it, no other can have it.
As the wolves know; when feasting for kings, on those daring for familiar . . .
It’s not fit; for one wander nor many.
So hear it the distrusting larks; of the world of similar, and feel nothing of diffs.
For soon seen; harking the ears; blistering the skins; bitter the mouth of diffs.
One path was made for ay; follow not, nor lead not, travel alone.
And soon the feel of diffs will come in understanding.
Nor will the wolves hunt on those; come sinking teeth, on a poor fool.
Who only wanted what everyone else had.
Thy life will come; wait is needed; along with lone and diffs as well.
