Read: The Werewolf Epic

The Addition:

Oh sing an un-regarded song, a verse
remembered naught for savage man’s diverse
and wicked schemes; his heart unkind is bent
toward self and gain, but You who formed the dust,
dirtied in molding clay to reflect Your
image, did not Your word say, “this is good”?
Though we one thousand times or more are cracked,
are shatter’d, returned to dust, is not anew
Your mercy borne at Your sunrise? I pray
to know—to write—of heroes then, to sing
of those inheritors of good and ill
which can repent and become more like You.
So tell me now, thus I beseech, how this
woodsman of mean report, little as like
a king or prince as like is man to You,
how he shall now a braver deed unfold
than high enthroned monarchs may dare to dream.