Friday, April 17, 2009

#422: La Noche del Hombre-Lobo

They had him in his grave, or so they thought--
but now he stalks the moors and knows no rest.
The Gypsies, damn them--dirty, thieving lot!
have pulled the Silver Cross out of his chest.

Daninksy Castle's windows are ablaze
with torchlight; then at night, those horrid screams
that turn to howls. The moon's cold, deadly rays
bring down a curse that only Death redeems,

and that at True Love's hand, so says the lore.
The ancient legends teach no other way.
Look there, where on black velvet Luna hangs!
Tonight the Polish hills run red with blood,
and no virgin is safe from his dread fangs.
He's not that pure at heart. He does not pray.

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