Read: The Werewolf Epic

The Addition:

So speaks the hunter on: The pond, bloodied,
reflects a different hue than what I see
when gazing up into heaven’s wonders.
They are not changed by any deed below;
no victory of kings, nor apathy
of fools may mold or charm whate’er they are.
But changing forms, the roving moon and these
seasonal dots, pinpricks of light whose shine
reveals when darkness grows about, meeting
in fierce array battalions held at bay
by Sun’s singular light, all these do sway
except one star I know who guidance lends
unto us humble men who deign to hope
on what is seen above. So I will trust
this faithful star that leads through any night,
forgoing talk of retrograde and fate
writ clear within these odd movements esteemed.
I will only respect this one small light.
Yet Artemis I see, and this her moon;
hunters cannot but hope with signs so plain,
and plain an earthly light, though dim, now shines.
She oft, the dweller of that hut, to tell
of one sweet daughter born in summertime
who in a cloak of red her daily tasks
about the town performs. In truth the dame
I know, who shyly spoke to me one morn:

Woodsman, she knew no other name for me,
wouldst thou inform your slave unto what path
she best prepares her way when through the woods
a journey in the night she might make home?