Jerrold Prothero Poet Sonnet

Notes About The Poem

"Werewolf" is the last remnant of the word "wer", meaning "man". A werewolf is not a man or a wolf, but fully both. The myth of the werewolf exists for a reason: if werewolves do not walk among us, it is only that they do not have fur. The duty of a poet extends to darker truths.

The Werewolf

A lesser moon I can quite well withstand,
A gentle crescent grants a gracious smile,
To all the world, an honest helping hand,
And friends well know I'll go the extra mile.
But then there comes that shining disk of hell,
And buried in a hole, I feel its flood,
And then regret my wit and sharpened smell,
And all that lusts the rip and flowing blood.
And one may say I should not be a wolf,
As wolves have said I should not human be;
I am the thread that spans across the gulf,
The day and night it seems the world must see.
And so there lies the deep divided one,
Each half despising what the other's done.

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