Read: The Werewolf Epic
An evergreen, above the trees, its proud
branches reach high, and yet the trunk, earthly
as like the rest, from buried roots ascends.
And by this nature’s spire the clearing where
the grandmother’s abode resides. It’s here
the woodsman comes, and leans against this tree.
Still in his forest home, his eyes about
the clearing move, searching for any sight
of that strange wolf he fears. The shadows dance,
his vision’s snatched by breezy leaves, and by
a creaking limb. He holds his hunt, the deer,
upon his back, the weight growing as time
his march leads on. He must to the cottage.