Wordsworth Meets the
A Lyrical Ballad in the
Language of Common Men
I met a werewolf in the dale,
So hairy on the bog.
Gooden good sir, I greeted him.
He gobbled up my dog.
I told him that he should not be
So quick to eat a hound,
But he just growled and said that he
Would twist my head around
And bring me to his werewolf cubs
For supper or a snack.
And so I grabbed my gun and fired
A bullet in his back.
He uttered up a curse that I
Was sore ashamed to hear,
And howled into the moonlit tarn,
It made me shake with fear.
And for a moment when I saw
His eyes so fiery red,
I wondered if he always looked
So coarse and so ill bred
Or if when he just wandered free
Upon the mountains high
Dame Nature soothed his angry heart
And fed him berry pie
And slaked his thirst with water cool
From some clear, rocky spring.
And then I thought dont be a fool,
Hes not a human thing.
And so I left him there that night
Screaming out in pain,
But sometime when the moon is bright
Ill seek him out again
And offer him a humble crust
And my good hand as well.
For all who live in Natures trust
Will know that creatures fell
Like werewolves who stalk in the night
Are much the same as we
They shun the daytime and the light
For starlit poesy.
And sometimes when my heart sinks low
My face so cold and pale,
Ill comfort take that I did know
The werewolf in the dale.
If you've any comments on
this poem, Steve Klepetar
would be pleased to hear