If she was in the woods
with a wolf,
the wolf would run
Her cape would be the blade,
Swift and quiet but sharp till the hilt
It craned over a field of crescent flowers,
cutting off their buds
And when she walked, she cleared the hill
of all their heads.
Her smile chased the wolf and her hair
scalped his fur and burned his paws.
The wolf ran that day when her red
cloak blew his way.
The wolf ran from her howl in the night
While she slept soundly nice and tight.