The Wolfman

The Wolfman


The Wolfman comes to me at a full moon.
His whistle is as soft as any tune.
In the dark, you cannot see his face.
When he is gone there is hardly any trace.
His breath is so hot and steaming.
Am I awake or have I been dreaming?
He is gentle yet strong.
In whose world do I belong?
Does he want my blood?
My tears flow like a flood.
The birds are singing up in the trees,
And I’m sure I can hear the humming of bees.
It’s time for the Wolfman to go.
He shakes his head, I scream no!
It’s the coming of dawn,
And my heart is forlorn.

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