THE CRY OF THE HOUND

From the cold, still night there comes one sound;
The lonely and mournful cry of the hound.
He sits and gazes at the starlit skies
With a mixture of wonder and fear in his eyes.
As the ghostly moonlight comes shining down,
Casting an eerie light on the ground;
As the wind curls its fingers through the ancient trees,
The deathly calm is broken by the rustling of leaves.
As silence prevails and all is quiet,
A faint cry echoes through the night.
Far away, it is answered by a deep-throated growl,
Which slowly rises to a high-pitched howl.
And is the night slowly passes on,
The world awaits the coming dawn.
As the heavens are lit by the first rays of light,
The stars lose their brilliance and fade out of sight.
And the hound his endless vigil keeps,
While the rest of the world is deep in sleep.