After Rudyard Kipling (specifically the Songs of the Chalk)

Cold breathes the packed-earth, crushed under-paw
Cold breathe the needles of the pine
Cold breathes the mountain-wind, scouring and raw
Cold breathes the night, brothers mine

Quick breathes the snowfall, flurrying past
Quick breathes the trickle of the brook
Quick breathes the starlight, waking at the last
Quick, brothers mine, come and look

Cold are the teeth of the brothers of the pack
Quick are the wolves on the prowl
Cold is the blood of the quarry of the pack
Up, brothers mine, raise the howl!

Copyright © 2018 by Finn McLellan.  All rights reserved.