The wolf’s moon is coming,
Lands once prosperous now harvest nothing,
We hear the howls of day and night,
For man a sky lies in darkest shadow that once shone bright.
Blood Moon had passed, and Snow and Oak too,
The starting winter comes around and through,
October’s Luna stains red the sky,
Here a dark season will come to lie.
Come Novembertime we stand on unsteady ground,
Little or no food has been saved or found,
No water arrives from our air,
Once more the moon tests our prayer.
As logs are cut and thrown onto fires,
The winter winds still cover us in a great white attire,
We must survive come moons of new,
For what is life without living tests through.
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