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"Night of the Wereman"

Updated: Mar 15, 2019



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

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