Beneath a sky bruised purple by the dying sun,
Where shadows stretched like claws, the night had begun.
A shiver danced on every leaf, a low wind sighed,
A tale of terror whispered, where a monstrous wolf did hide.

With eyes like embers burning, fur the color of night,
He stalked the sleeping village, bathed in pale moonlight.
His breath a chilling mist, his hunger cold and vast,
For children sweet and innocent, a ghastly, cruel repast.

But guarding little Lily, in her room with walls of blue,
Lay Max, a loyal shepherd, his fur a loyal hue.
His ears perked at a rustle, a scent of something foul,
A guttural growl escaped him, breaking the night’s soft cowl.

The windowpane shattered, a dark form crashed within,
Teeth bared, yellowed, dripping, a monstrous, hungry grin.
Lily screamed, a sound that pierced the heart of night,
Max lunged, a furry fury, a beacon burning bright.

They clashed in a whirlwind, claws and fur entwined,
A dance of death unfolding, a monstrous, brutal kind.
Max, with righteous fury, fought for the child so dear,
His body taking blows, fueled by love and fear.

Lily, wrapped in blankets, watched with wide, tear-filled eyes,
As the battle raged on fiercely, beneath the moonlit skies.
Max, though smaller, fiercer, fought with a desperate might,
For every bite he landed, the wolf returned with spite.

The fight tore through the night, a symphony of pain,
Until, with a final effort, Max brought the beast down, slain.
The wolf lay still, a lifeless husk, its cruel reign at an end,
But Max, too, lay panting, his own life near to spend.

Lily crawled from her haven, tears streaming down her face,
Reaching out to Max, who licked it with a fading grace.
His eyes, once bright and watchful, dimmed with the coming dawn,
A sacrifice of loyalty, a hero’s battle fought and won.

The village woke to silence, a chilling calm that spread,
But as the sun peeked over, a tale of sorrow bled.
Max, the loyal guardian, lay lifeless by the bed,
A victor in the death throes, with a child safe overhead.

Lily wept, a heart so young, forever marked by loss,
A bittersweet victory, at such a heavy cost.
Max, the hero, slumbered, bathed in the morning’s light,
A guardian angel silenced, in a fight both dark and bright.

This tale, it leaves you weeping, with a lump lodged in your throat,
For love and courage conquer, at a terrible, dear note.
It whispers of devotion, that burns with endless flame,
And leaves a heavy question, whispered in the wolf’s fallen name.

Will there be another guardian, when darkness next descends?
Will love rise up to meet it, until the very end?
This poem lives to inspire, yet leaves a wound so deep,
For heroes fall in twilight, while children learn to sleep.