For Tom, whose weltenschaung has outgrown his drinking habits.

The Reassessment of the Wulfschlacht

In the middle of a square in the middle of a market in the middle of a village

A wulfschlacht danced,

The tip of its tail painted with honey

And just out of reach of its teeth.

The crowd applauded and cheered until

Exhausted and maddened the wulfschlacht stopped

And ate the meat, thrown as a reward.

Next day a crowd gathered, as usual.

"I will not dance for you," said the wulfschlacht,

"Why do you always want me to dance?"

An old man shrugged, not hiding his disappointment

"In this place, in these times, people like to see a wulfschlacht dance," he said.

The wulfschlacht was firm

"Well I will not dance," it said, "you'll just have to fund something else to do."

It ground its teeth and scowled, to show it was serious

And the crowd dispersed, grumbling, to find other entertainment

Leaving the old man and the wulfschlacht.

"Wait," said the latter, "where is my meat, I am hungry?"

"You would not dance," said the old man, "no dancing, no fresh meat."

He turned and walked away.

"But what will happen to me?" the wulfschlacht cried, "What will I do now?"

"I don't know," called the old man,

"What do other wulfschlachts do?"