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The WereWolf of Woodland Georgia

Story ID:6975
Written by:bobby o'neill mitchum (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:Poem
Location:Phenix City Alabama U.S.A.
Year:2011
Person:Self
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Of Werewolves we are taught
only to believe that they are naught
but figments of dreams and frought
with imginations over wrought.

But even the wildest drerams
may be true it seems
when the full mooncasts it's beams
and cold winter makes the belly lean.

Consider the case of one Miss Burt,
not even a fly would she hurt
till with the devil she did flirt
and put on that magical hairy shirt.

Then haunted she all Woodland round
creeping about not making a sound
and seeking prey by sniffing the ground
to kill and maim with fury unbound.

The Good People of Woodland,Farmers all
listened at night as the WereWolf called,
some were frightened,some were enthralled
some loaded muskets with cap and ball.

A few offered up thier Souls for sale
to that ancient pagan God old Bael
while some thought all effort would fail,
believing the human spirit too frail.

Some Prayed on full moon nights
from dusk till the Dawns bright light
for God to aid them in the fight
to end the curse of the WereWolf's blight.

But all night long till the sun's first peep
that Werewolf killed both lamb and sheep
and gutted the cattle fat and sleek
and mauled the guard dos in thier sleep.

Till the farmers of woodland finally had enough
of this werewolf mean and gruff
and gathered in a mob,angry and rough
some with silver bullets thier pockets stuffed.

They met one night on the outskirts of town
all determined to hunt the Beast down
while in the dark wood all around
that werewolf howled with a mournful sound.

A Mother,thinking Her Child to be insane
set out that night to end the beast's reighn
and following her child down a dreary lane,
saw the WereWolf,about to be slain,

by that angry mob of men
all determined that the killings should end
no matter what law they had to break,or bend
even if it ment committing a mortal sin.

And in the full moon's pale light
that Mother beheld a terrible sight'which filled her heart with disgust and fright
and a horrible pity for her daughters plight,

for stright into her Childs eyes she stared
and saw both beast and human mingled there
in those blood red eyes and baleful stare
and the Mother knew not how she would fare,

For she knew not if Her daughter knew her name
nor if she would be killed or maimed
nor if love or murderous passion flamed
within her Daughters befuddled brain.

She remembered Her Daughter as a child at home
smilling sweetly beside the hearthstone
or singing softly in the garden as she played alone,
not this bloody monster that howled and moaned.

So with heart and mind all distraught
to end this misery was her only thought
and she raised the pistol she had brought
and fired one shot at the target she sought,

and right true her aim,so it was said
for it struck the beast in it's head
Her Daughter fell,some swore she was dead
others swore that a great beastly form fled

into the forest and disappeared among the dark trees
while the mother fell upon her knees
and wailed out Prayers and ardent 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 beam of light
both Mother and Daughter had won thier fight.

For the Daughter recovered from her grevious wound
and her sould had been cleansed of that which doomed
and only life and happiness on the horizon loomed
and it has been said that love bloomed

in the heart of our Miss Burt who traveled abroad
and visited the reknowned Doctor Herr Freud
who of her wolfish propensity did void
while the good farmers of woodland were all over joyed

that the terrible werewolf that had vexed them so
would no longer through the dark forest go
killing and murdering and laying live stock low.
thats how the tale is told and thats how it did go.

But now,just where will remain unknown
our Miss Burt sleeps in a garden of stone
surrounded by the forest and with weeds over grown
buried and forgotten,and all alone.

So for now,as most tales often do
this tale must have and ending too
so this one thought i'll leave with you
most of this tale is really true.
Bob Mitchum