by Nick Gisburne
The children chant his name, again, today
United, they support the worthy cause
For one of them can now no longer play
Afflicted by a fever of the jaws
His suffering, too sorrowful to see
Corrupts him at the fullness of the moon
And on these nights of torment, it is he
They banish, briefly, in a black balloon
He howls, reminding all who hear his pain
The glamour of a lycanthrope is flawed
The basket, far above them, helps contain
A power that must never be explored
Tonight, a deadly voyage will begin
The cunning child has brought with him a pin
