The moon was obscured so the forrest was black
As the three baby wolves tried to follow their pack
Alas, the expanse of one river they crossed
Confused their young senses, and soon they were lost
In spite of their howling, the wolflings were lost
After prowling for hours, frozen with fright,
With a sigh they decided to rest for the night
They perched near a tree, but were filled with dismay
When from the trunk’s shadow they heard a voice say: “I would strongly advise you to be on your way”
Stumbling forth, as if roused from his rest,
Was a large, older wolf with a scar on his chest
“Oh please,” cried a wolfling, “we can’t find our pack
Our noses are small and too tired to track
Can you possibly help us find our way back?”
“I’m afraid,” said the wolf, “I can’t help you tonight
For behind that dark cloud shines a moon full and bright
And when it emerges, I know it sounds strange,
But I don’t think you’ll like the way that I change,
You may wish that by then you were well out of range…
“For you see, several years ago, traveling out west
A strange human male bit me here on my chest
And now, my dear pups, you should run while you can
Because every full moon… I turn into a man.”
The wolflings all yelped, but none of them ran
They stood there and shook, in the clutches of dread
Till the bravest young wolfling stepped forward and said: “Nice try, but we’ll never be frightened by you, Your story is far too bizarre to be true.”
But just then from the clouds came the moon in full view
The wolf twisted and turned for a minute at least
Before standing up straight like some two-legged beast
From a small human mouth came an agonized cry
As he waved all the fur on his body goodbye
In its place, he now sported a suit and a tie
The wolfings were shocked and emotionally scarred
As the beast shook their paws and said, “Here, take my card,”
He sat down at a desk and he looked quite at home
As he guzzled his extra hot latte, no foam
And I wish I could tell you that thus ends the poem…
But listen, brave souls, of what horrors came next:
For the man grabbed a phone and he started to text
He took a few selfies, he scrolled through his feed
He swiped at some game with unquenchable greed
In short, he grew blind to three creatures in need
And then the poor pups got the worst of their shocks
For the man called his broker and traded some stocks
He spoke about money as if it were real
As if it were something to love and to feel
An acceptable motive to lie and to steal
At the sight of such terror the pups understood
That they needed to flee just as fast as they could
So they shot through the woods in a haphazard line
At the speed of a tingle that runs down your spine And the monster cried out: “Have your people call mine!”
They ran without stopping through most of the night
And at last found their pack as the morning grew bright
They flew to their families, faces agleam
As they told of the beast that had made them all scream
The older wolves said, “What a horrible dream”
And maybe this tale was a dream they all shared
But still, there are worse things than being prepared
So the next time you’re out, give the sky a quick scan
And if the moon’s full, quickly think of a plan
For that wolf at your side may be none other than
The worst monster of all, whom they call… The Wereman
