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When you listen to the howl of wolves,
You seem to hear a song.
Each howl is unique,
Yet all tell stories of the wild and free,
And fill the night with an aura of power,
A natural force in which a soul can communicate.
In each encounter with this song,
You read tales in the air,
Visions that the music can weave through the night.
Sometimes you see a glimpse of youth,
Fleeting childhood that passes in an instant.
Other times two lives are bound,
Wed for life, no longer separate.
Some tell of obscure themes,
A lonely maple seed in its suite of soil,
Its tedious waiting broken by insects' interactions.
Others are even stranger; strange but beautiful:
The cosmic mercy of a fierce universal sea.
You learn of wonderful things
As the wild musicians use their knack for telling.
Then, gradually, the song becomes complete.
The night's landscape is dark; to the west the sky is black,
But to the east it begins to bleed a sunrise.
The magnificent visions become dim, then fade away,
As the beautiful music makes way for silence.
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