• Once upon a full, bright moon,
    I heard the singing of a tune.
    Searching every where and way,
    Searching always, night and day.
    But the tune would come no more,
    Not for several and a score.
    But then another moonlit night,
    I had a horrid, startling fright.
    The wondrous tune had come again,
    But what made it is not a friend.
    A werewolf there was singing clear,
    For comfort, it was much too near.
    But attack me it did not,
    Nor throw me in a boiling pot.
    Then there came a gentle part
    The pure white werewolf stole my heart.