Can look dignified and grave
While chewing on a hero's bone
Who fought furiously and alone.
And so it is when moon is right
On foggy moors in dark of night
That werewolves can seem civilized
Dining on detectives' eyes.
What greater poet has this world,
To corrupt the sweetest girl,
Than the gay and furry satyr
As the autumn grows ever later?
It seems the day has come around,
Arriving here on common ground,
That man himself seems incomplete
Unless a beast up to his seat.
RESERVE, n. A bank's treasury of panic.