Nox Noctis

The poetry that rhymes, the one that thinks

The Wolves unleash the howls on the moon,
Setting forth the bringer of chaos to my midst,
Tis’ quite exubrent to see through crystal eyes so soft and pale,
For I wait for the nix to cease,
So the white fog of day can set me a new,
For only the footsteps of creation can save me from oblivian.