It’s that time again, when the moon grows full.
My teeth tingle slightly, as my mouth starts to drool.
My arms itch, as fur starts to sprout.
Keeping control is something I doubt.
I shudder as my body pulsates with pain,
And I think of my visit to the gypsy again.
She sat in a tent, looking into a ball.
For the right price she would tell me all.
I sat down beside her, as she began to speak.
She told me the cure, in a voice that was weak.
The eye of a newt, the bark of a tree,
A blue earthworm, and a dead cat’s knee.
I refused to take it in bitter disgust,
But she raved profusely, “Eat it you must!”
So I gobbled it up, while holding my nose,
She laughed and cackled, as slowly she rose.
She said I was cured, but she was not right.
I lost one curse, and gained another that night.
No longer a werewolf would I ever be,
For I was now cured of that misery.
Want to see something strange?
You’d better look now.
Look and you’ll see,
The world’s first werecow.
I don't do a lot of poems. This is the only one that I have liked enough to save.
Wrote it when I was a senior in high school, back in 1993.
