translated from The Book of Lycan Poetry

The Moon, my love, my gift. Lunata.
must retire.
A goddess must rest to rule.
Her love. Her Mate, gives playful chase.
Lupos, the light wolf, is bestowed upon by
Her painting of the dawn.
Soft. Like the goddess herself.
Smudges of the beautiful blackness
that fade with the crescendo of his light.
Their playful symphony carries until
our fur and bones are once again given to Gaia.
Would it be blasphemous to howl with him?
To sing with him to his queen?
As we do to her when she rises
and shifts the tides in our blood?
Certainly, it would not.
Song is incorruptible
In the eyes of the light and the dark.
White and Black and Grey wolves
we sing.
– Oryn