Standing in front of the waters edge
a most illuminous and radiant sight...
dark eyes, eyes of the frightful night
soft and gentle like the mid-night breeze
paws so glistin' from the sensuous moon
a'fore like a ghostly gleam...
a lady, so tranquil like winding brooks of Donnsonaire
watching with awe at the glorious creature
silent, without a heartbeat, slowly waiting...
each distant breath, quiet amis the sensation
the whispering wind, with its gentle fury
so presiding over unlawful spellbound magic
the light of the ill-forgotten shadows,
gives the slightest urge,
the mysterious lady disappears...
tis the wolven lore, told of by the ancients.
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