By 
The Moon was strangely vibrant in colour. The most red it had ever been. The wolf, alone, and frightened, felt the need to set the scene. She howled, silently at first, and then raised her voice more and more. The blood redness of the Moon that night had affected her for sure. She sang a song that birds should sing, but not a single bird was near, as they were all in their nests, cowering in fear. The Moon that night had caused a fright to all within her glow, but why the Moon was red so soon, not a soul did know. The wolf fulfilled her task at hand, and sang to her heart’s desire, her words known briefly to but a few, who’d dared to go enquire…
oh Tom! really enjoy this “slice of life” moment.
when i first read the title, i thought “oh noes! something scary.”, loved how you subverted the expectation and played with the form. i guess i just exposed my own bias about wolves and red moons…nice work.
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Thank you, Bex, I’m pleased you liked it. I wanted to write something a little different last night!
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Beautiful Wolf-song, and beautiful poem Sir Aquatom. I could her her in my head… Howling at the Red Moon. xPenx
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Thank you, Pen, I’m happy you liked my rhyme!
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