Werewolf
The shadows of night moved
nebulously across the great
timbers of the Northern Hemisphere.
A lonely Werewolf slunk softly
through the blackened trees stealing
the silence lying all about him. With
teeth flashing, tongue lapping, he
howled for evanescent forgiveness as
his colossal lips dripped with saliva.
Suddenly, the Werewolf halted
abruptly, never to move again. His
eyes fastened upon an object of
Truth, Trust and Tranquility.
Emulsified fright held him fast.
Rain fell and all became wet.
The dampness gave way to chill
and the Werewolf froze to death.
The body did not rot. It remains
there today. The rain has stopped
but Truth, Trust and Tranquility
continue to linger.
Now let thy blood flow. Let thy
stomach digest this ugly feast; let thy
mind tarry just a little. Yes, you killed
that gory beast!
Yorktown Disciple
1963
Howling Poet
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