Many Many Moons/The Wolf Cry

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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.

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