He walks through the night, teeth all sharp,
biting, and howling to the moon with his heart.
Hair growing long on his fingers, and toes,
becoming bigger with his elongated nose.
Hunched in the dark, waiting for food,
When out comes a woman, dressed strange, and crude.
Almost to the reaching point, next to the roof,
comes, Scully, with, Mulder, to pounce on the wolf.
I don't really know how this should end,
for it's now in the X-File, to never be mentioned again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem