In the Barrow Den

They gnaw not the bones of marrow,

for the wolves run tomorrow.

Knot the knobs of Nottingham

with red tape,

the full moon’s crimson tonight

and the werewolves are stalking out of spite

royal delicacies

rich royals on knees too weak to flee–

gnaw not at the knots

of fraying nerves,

they won’t save you,

the wolves are coming hunting

no red will hold them in

the bones will feed them well tomorrow

in the barrow den.