The Changeling Kyrielle Poem by Sheena Blackhall

I hide my growlings, curb my prowls,
Leave my fur jacket in the hall,
And with the dinner party blend
I am not civilised at all.

My claws are curving, pearly white,
So when the roast's thin slices fall,
The dripping blood is my delight
I am not civilised at all.

I must not snarl or show my teeth.
Such savage manners would appal.
I must affect a simple smile.
I am not civilised at all.

When the high Moon is in its place,
And Shadow slithers like a pall,
A thousand packs howl in my heart,
I am not civilised at all.

My ears like shells, fill with the sound
Of whirring wing and foxes' call.
The wild, the wet is my delight,
I am not civilised at all.

Then I peel off my human face,
Slink from the house and leap the wall,
To join the runners in the night,
I am not civilised at all.