A speaker stands shivering in the cold and notices a wolf staring out from the trees. The wolf has blue eyes that glitter like crystals, and for a moment everything is still: it watches, and the speaker is watched. Then the wolf shakes its head and wanders off, as if it has decided there is nothing to fear or nothing to do here.
What matters most is how the speaker reacts. There is no panic. Instead, the last three lines settle into a quiet, repeated claim: "My wolf. My guardian. My angel." A potentially dangerous animal becomes something protective, even holy. The poem doesn't explain why, but the feeling seems to be awe mixed with comfort, perhaps a sense of being seen and spared.
The mood is hushed and wintry. Short lines and the word "frozen" slow everything down, and the cold makes the final warmth of the repeated "my" stand out.