Wordsworth Meets the Werewolf:
A Lyrical Ballad in the Language of Common Men

I met a werewolf in the dale,
So hairy on the bog.
“Good’en 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 “don’t be a fool,
He’s not a human thing.”

And so I left him there that night
Screaming out in pain,
But sometime when the moon is bright
I’ll seek him out again

And offer him a humble crust
And my good hand as well.
For all who live in Nature’s 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,
I’ll comfort take that I did know
The werewolf in the dale.

Steve Klepetar

If you've any comments on this poem, Steve Klepetar would be pleased to hear from you.