By:Georgia Roberts Durston

And over the tree-tops the nighthawk sails,

When the pale moon hides and the wild wind wails,

The gray wolf sits on the world's far rim,

and howls:and it seems to comfort him.

The wolf is a lonely soul,you see,

No beast in the wood,nor bird in the tree,

But shuns his path;in the windy gloom

They give him plenty,and plenty of room.

So he sits with his long,lean face to the sky 

watching the ragged clouds go by

there in the night,alone,apart,

singing the song of his lone,wild heart.

Far away,on the world's dark rim

He howls,and it seems to comfort him.

thanks for watching By: lexi ace