The WereWolf of Woodland

In WereWolves,from childhood,we are taught
only to believe that they are naught
but figments or dreams and frought
with imaginations overwrought.

But even the wildest dreams
may sometimes come true it seems
when the full moon cast it's beams
and cold winter makes the belly lean.

Take the case of our Miss Burt,
never the weakest creature would she hurt
till for the Devil she hiked her skirt
and donned that magic hairy shirt.

Then haunted she woodland round
creeping about without a sound,
seeking prey by sniffing the ground
to kill and maul,with fury unbound.

The good people of woodland,Farmers all
listened at night when the Werewolf called,
some were frightened,some were enthralled
and some loaded thier guns,with cap and ball.

A few offered up thier souls for sale
to that ancient God called Bael,
while some thought all effort would fail,
believing the human spirit to frail

Some prayed on full moon nights
from dusk,till the dawns bright light
for Jesus to aid them in the fight
and end the curse of the Werewolfs blight.

But still,all night long,till the sun's first peep
the Werewolf killed both Lamb and Sheep
and gutted the cattle,lean or sleek,
and mauled the guard dogs in thier sleep.

The Farmers of Woodland,finally had enough
of this Werewolf mean and gruff
and they gathered in a mob,both angry and rough
some,with silver bullits thier pockets stuffed.

They met together on the outskirts of town,
all determined to hunt the Beast down
while in the dark wood all around
the Werewolf howled with a mournful sound.

A Mother,thinking her Daughter insane
set out alone to end the Beast's reign
and following her Daughter down a dreary lane,
saw the Werewolf,about to be slain,

by that angry group of men,
who were determined that the killings end,
no matter what law they would break or bend
even if it ment committing a mortal sin.

And in that full moon's pale light,
the Mother beheld a terrible sight
and it filled her heart with disgust and fright
and an awful pity, for her Daughters plight.

For Beast and human intermingled there
with blood red eyes and a baleful glare,
stright into her daughters eyes she did stare,
and knew not how she would fare,

she knew not if her daughter knew her name
nor if she would be killed or maimed,
or if love or murderous rage flamed
within her daughters befuddled brain.

She remembered her daughter as a child at home,
smiling sweetly beside the hearth stone,
or singing to herself while playing alone,
not this foul and bloody beast,who howled and moaned.

So raising the small pistol she had bought,
and with her heart and mind all distraught
to end her daughters misery,was her only thought
she fired a single silver bullit at the target she sought.

Right true her aim,so it was said,
and it struck the Beast in it's head!
Her daughter fell,some swear she was dead
some swear that a great shadowy beast form fled

into the forest,and disappeared among the dark trees,
while her Mother fell upon bended knee
and wailed out prayers and heart wrenching pleas
for her daughters soul to rest at ease.

And more than one prayer was answered that dark night,
for the Werewolf of woodland had been put to flight
and with the dawns first shining light
both mother and daughter had won thier fight,

for Miss Burt recovered from her grevious wound
and her soul had been cleansed of that which had doomed
and only life and happiness on the horizon loomed,
and it has been said that love even bloomed

in the heart of miss burt who traveled abroad
and visited that reknowned Doctor,Herr Freud
who of her wolfish propensitty he did void
while the good farmers of woodland were all over joyed

that the terrible werewolf that had vexed them so
would no more through the dark forest go
killing and maiming and laying live stock low
thats how the tale is told,and i believe it is so.

But now,just where must remain unknown,
our miss burt lies in a garden of stone,
surrounded by the forest and all over grown,
buried and forgotten,and all alone.

And for now,as all tales often do
this tale must have an ending too,
so this one thought,i leave with you
most of this tale is really true!

Story ID:	4173
Written by:	Bobby O'neill Mitchum (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Poem
Location:	Phenix City Alabama U.S.A.
Year:	2008
Person:	ME