When the moon is
full and silver glows,
Under the green
shades cold wind blows.
Beasts and birds
when fears to talk,
Time has come for
The White Wanderer’s walk.
Long ago a young hunter
lost his track,
Stars flickered in
the curtain of black.
His dread grew and
hope dwindled,
In the dark two flaming
eyes kindled.
Within its
mysterious enticing depth,
There resides an
agent of death.
Cries of his faded
in the woods of deep,
As he slumbered
into an eternal sleep.
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