Alone he was, wherever it was
Stronger, it made him, more than he thought.
Peace he knew, a luxury well deserved
Shame he knew not, joy of being alone.
More of a solitary, he was, a lone wolf
Sight of another human, he never yearned.
In love with the moon, he was, deep and true
Bright and beautiful she was, another girl he never knew.
Once a month he turned, he cried and howled
For the love he will never get, from the far away moon.
What didn’t kill him, made him stronger
No hate in him, but cherished and relished in her bright light.
A solitary, a lone wolf he was called
But a were-wolf he was, wild and hard.