There is a legend that is told among the trees
Of a mighty pack that roams through the forest
Where they search, and seek, to rule, to protect;
Always watching, without ever ceasing to rest.

The forest sways in the gentle breeze,
And the sun has stopped its glowing;
In the blackness of the night the stars shine,
The moon’s silhouette no longer showing.

The harmony of their voices together rings,
Sparkling silver fur making the night blind;
Gleaming yellow eyes always watching,
Howling together they sing, where, no one can find.

The hunter is hunting as the wilderness sleeps,
Prowling feet search to find him with bountiful strides.
He wanders unafraid, rifle in hand and unaware
That death lingers and on the wind rides.

Seeking to devour life, he searches in vain,
Until silently surrounded by eyes in the darkness.
No place can he flee, they are here, and there,
Misty breath drawing closer, crawling with fierceness.

—Finally, a prance, a signal, and together they leap.
After bites and snarls, snatched away the gun lies
Broken and useless like the hunter at its side
All from this silver singing pack of yellow eyes.