Verbal Poetry

Excellent poem from Futility Closet.

One night an errant Werewolf fled His wife and child and visited A village teacher’s sepulchre And begged him: “Conjugate me, sir!”

The village teacher then awoke And standing on his scutcheon spoke Thus to the beast, who made his seat With crossed paws at the dead man’s feet:

“The Werewolf,” said that honest wight, “The Willwolf — future, am I right? The Wouldwolf — wolf conditional, The Beowulf — father of them all!”

These tenses had a pleasing sound, The Werewolf rolled his eyeballs round, And begged him, as he’d gone so far, Add plural to the singular.

The village teacher scratched his head; He’d never heard of that, he said. Though there were “wolves” in packs and swarms, Of “were” could be no plural forms!

There werewolf rose up blind with tears – He’s had a wife and child for years! But being ignorant of letters He went home thankful to his betters.

– Christian Morgenstern