At day he is seen, wandering big fields of green,
His only thoughts, chewing on grass! Not being mean!
But lo! (and he does) as the nighttime draws near...
All of the others in his herd all huddle in fear!
They know, as I do, this bovine's dark past,
Alone in his presence, none wants to be last!

At day chews its cud, at night, thirsts for blood!
Behold, fear, and despair, for he's the Werecow!

When the sun comes up, he's friendly, and plays;
But when it goes down, he murders and slays!
His teeth are like tokens, big, round, and flat.
But at nighttime, they get much sharper than that!
In daytime, you can lean down and snuggle his face,
But at night, you should fear his dark were-embrace!

In sun, eats on shrooms, at night, moos out dooms!
Cower, Supplant, Beware, for he's the Werecow!

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Lanosian, in the year 133 MA.