Notes About The Poem
It is the basic man within that determines the make up of the wolf. If the man is evil, so is the wolf within him. If the man is good, then so is the wolf. What we look like means nothing. It is the spirit and the soul that counts.
The Wolfman and the Lady
It was the night of the full moon when he would go a-hunting.
He was not always seeking prey but he was hunting something.
There was a glade deep in the wood with a lovely little pond,
And she would come when it was dark and of her he'd grown quite fond.
They each came often to this place, t'was here that he first saw her.
Her eyes, her hair, her glowing skin, she was a thing of wonder.
She stood in the silver moonlight, the moonbeams on her hair.
She sat by the edge of the water, so delicate and fair.
Why was he drawn to her this way, he longed to be her lover;
But she was human was she not, she pulled him like no other.
He watched her hidden by the leaves longing to be by her side.
But he could never let her know, she'd never be his bride.
She stood and looked up at the moon, then she dropped her gown.
She turned and looked straight at him, and dropped down to the ground.
She shimmered in the moonlight, the change in her was quick.
Did his mind deceive him, his eyes perhaps play tricks?
There before him stood his queen, all silver/grey and shining.
A she-wolf like he'd never seen and she had sensed his pining.
Now he rushed toward her, he'd found at last his mate.
No longer would he hunt alone for this was kismet, fate.
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