THE LONELY WHITE WOLF

In twilight’s hush, where shadows play,

I trace the lines of yesterday.

Vegetable tanned, a scent so deep,

A silent promise secrets keep.

The notebook sleeps, a heart unbound,

With memories on hallowed ground.

Each page a ghost, a faded trace,

Of laughter lost, and time’s embrace.

The forest sighs within the grain,

A life surrendered, eased of pain.

The paper waits, a canvas white,

To capture dreams in pale moonlight.

No loneliness in solitude’s keep,

Where ink-stained fingers gently sweep.

But fellowship with souls unseen,

In whispered tales, forever keen.

For in the folds, a spirit lies,

Reflecting back my own two eyes.

A haunting beauty, soft and low,

Where past and future gently flow.