There was a full moon in the chill of the night
A lone wolf wailed somewhere in the west
Was it the moon or the wolf’s eyes so bright?
For even heavens looked down in their own quest
Somewhere in the south
By the sound of a sweet singing river
Somewhere on a pine
Where an owl did sit and shiver
Somewhere by a cedar
Where the wolf stood alone and cried
On the shores of a river
An old lion did groan and died
Then the night worn out and went away the stars
The crying of the wolf had cast its scars
And as the wolf set out in the chill of the morn
No longer did he cry, for once again he was born.