Calling from the misty hills, to a mate long gone
Memories so in tears, as served by baying forlorn
Of silver hair and blue eyes, shattered in its grief
Her soul so taken, by the hands of a mortal thief
So onwards down this path, to somewhere other
Through the woodlands to seas, a place, another
Other than here, or from memories of heart ache
When in her life’s passing, my soul did so break
Crying to the moon, of the coldest winters night
As I travel, though no landscape, is ever in sight
Tendered path of leaves, and earth abound now
Eyes sight set forward, to the ever kindred brow
Every dream is haunted, by the ghosts of her call
Via a hunters gun, did decree her soul so mortal
That in her dying declaration, she told me to run
Run far and away, and so fast from hunters gun
That I was stung to thus leaving, her body dying
So alone and in the chill, for a hunters prizing
Shattered now is my heart, as memories kindle
So thus I continue on, without a pup or principle
Just hate in my heart, and a fear of their lethality
That hath brought now, in my life much misery
Sleep brings her to me; awaken again in sorrow
As her face fades again, in bright daylights crow
Though I call from this hillside, others do return
But as of the many, it is the one, to which I burn
As for the one to which I loved, now is so silent
Just a memory forever; slain to a world so violent
Lost in me is the principal, of man as I used to be
Before that she did turn me, and thus set me free
From this foolishness, of this wasting of beauty
I shall walk this earth, in Lycanthropes’ dynasty
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Like it. Lycanthropy writ large. Howling!