- Books, Literature, and Writing
In the grey light of dawn they drift
Ghost like. As you focus on the sound of the howl,
They emerge, and converge, closing in.
Your final prayer goes unheard, as a snarl
Rises up from the throat, and you face it head bowed.
In a moment of grace they retreat.
Snow drifts where you walk.
Gently you fall.
This is where it began...
© 2015 Verlie Burroughs