Many Many Moons/The Wolf Cry

by Lew Sarett

THE WOLF CRY

The Arctic moon hangs overhead;
 The wide white silence lies below.
A starveling pine stands lone and gaunt,
 Black-penciled on the snow.

Weird as the moan of sobbing winds,
 A lone long call floats up from the trail,
And the naked soul of the frozen North
 Trembles in that wail.