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