At dead of night, when the moon is full
it prowls across the moor.
Its fangs are bared, its eyes throb red.
What is it hunting for?
The air is still.Its chilling howls
echo back in time.
Against the moon, its silhouette
sends shivers down your spine.
Its closer now.Dont try to hide,
theirs nothing you can do.
Its on its way and you are doomed
if it is hunting you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem