Wolves

Making out the shadows
As they gather towards me.
Looking into the eyes
Of these monsters,
Appalling and deadly.
Running for my life
Isn’t quite how I planned
My night of camping.
Tired as I drag one ankle
I twisted on a root,
Sweat and tears
Dripping down my
Face of fear.
Blood stains my blouse
Of white silk with pink roses.
They smell my scent,
They are hungry
And follow my every step.

© Copyright 2014 A. M. Buxman (afinger83 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.

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