She runs through the woods that she ownes,
Through the trees and the weeds and the winters brisk air,
Around her new found home.
With her feet swiftly running through the snow,
She is a worrier like no other.
She will defend for her shelter.
She is like a cobra ready to strike,
For the game that she hunts durring day and night.
You cant turn away from the look in her eye's,
It holds you like your paralized.
That is when the shewolf strikes...
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