On winters coming, nights grow long
Stronger still, is the coyote’s song
He cries to himself, to his now lost love
Pitiful calls, lamenting stars and moon above
No wind, nor clouds and air is thin
The howls like no other, tell of what’s been
The coyote's call tells also, what will become
A mournful wail, sad feeling of future lonesome
Sad soft growls, and longing her sorrowful
Rhythm of call, now pause and listen wistful
No return, no answer, he stares into dark
Wanting her return, he cackles angry bark
Pacing and stopping he continues his calling
Spirit and hopes, once high, now falling
He cries too long, too hard, turning to join pack
But ears perk, far off reply, comes weakly back
Not believing, not trusting, of that distant sound
Heart pounding, senses sharp, he stands his high ground
From dark hills and forests far away, comes a cry
There, a call, a plea finally comes sounding as a sigh
On winters coming, nights grow long
Stronger still is the coyote’s song
Meeting finally in a dark valley clearing
They circle each other with great urgent daring
No wind, nor clouds and air is thin
The howls like no other, tell of what’s been
The coyote's call is all feelings, ancient emotions
Sincere, true sounds of life’s wild notions.
