The Wolfman on the Prowl

The cries had pierced the dampened air
as fog engulfed the night.
The fangs of fear brought forth a beast
beneath a brightened light.

The woodland scene, no longer green,
all cloaked in shades of gray,
a fiend of fate was lurking there
beside a darkened bay.

A shanty near the water's edge
was dim and dank inside;
a shadowed figure crept in close
with stench upon his hide.

The scratching paws on frosted panes,
with nails like green gray mold,
had echoed in the dwelling place
through windows drafty cold.

Two piercing eyes perused the room
for victims unaware,
then spied a lady's silhouette
relaxing in a chair.

The lady yelled, "You lunatic,
you're such a sorry sight!
The light is from the neighbor's porch;
the moon's not full tonight."


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