On a cold winter’s night,
sits in a tree is an owl,
Sitting and waiting in fright,
watching the lonely man howl.
On the world his turned his back,
starring at a bright white moon,
Knowing his lonesome without a pack,
crying over the beast he will become soon.
His become the werewolf at its worse,
the darkness in him eternally,
he will forever remain cursed,
and live as a wolf for all eternity.
just something i wrote, never actually tried before.
I prefer poems by Robert Burns (Scottish).
it was a good go well done hehe