Note: This is one of several poems of the Mojo Man series. Morri and the Mojo Man is a novel I may yet get the time to finish and the guts to try and publish. Some of the stories have a poem in them that is meant to be recited to drum. This one was from a story about a man whose wife became a werewolf of the Brittany bisclavret variety. These are not as nasty as the ones in the movies. Anyway, the Mojo Man saves the day again like in the other chapters, with a rather unique solution.
T'was the middle of the night and the moon was full,
Soft breezes shook the leaves,
Lady Goodburne ran to her mansion room,
Ruby lips crying silent pleas
She looked at her hand as a furry band
Began to grow down to her wrist
And hairy patches grew on her face too,
Now, she's REALLY pissed!
As a general rule, it ain't too cool,
To have a dose of lycanthropy
A furry face and snarling fangs,
That Inner Wolf struggling to be free!
So, lord of the manor, Sir Goodburne himself,
looked at his hairy wife and said
"Really, m'dear, I must protest!
I don't know what I've got in bed,
"Are you my wife, the light of my life,
or are you the walking undead?
So she stayed on her leash till the dawn's early
light,
then they loaded her in a big blue van,
And took her in a firm steel cage,
to the clinic of the Mojo Man!
So she came to me, an' I said "Be cool!"
I can do marital harmony
So I gave her my special brew and said,
"We gonna set that inner wolf free!"
Well, they're back in England in their master
bed,
They made love all afternoon,
Y'see, he's the one who took my special brew
So they both howl at the lover's moon!