A full moon is an obnoxious thing,

much too bright for my feared kind.

I’ve nothing left those nights but to sing,

and use a tune to pass the time.

I begin with some taps,

a scratch, and a pat—

just one foot, my left foot,

deep in the back.

My right talons then start,

with a melodious rap.

Rap-rap-tap!

Scratch-pat-scratch!

Tap-tap-rap!

Pat-scratch-pat!

Oh what fun! I hum and chuckle,

but this comes out

more like a rumble,

In turn, these old cave walls do buckle,

and rocks join my song

as they rain and they tumble!

It’d not be so bad

if I kept my sound down,

but it appears they heard me,

down the hill,

in the town—

A rash of torches

outside my cave,

I see glints of swords

and ghost-white faces,

Oh, what else can I do

but entertain

my dear fans who came

all these paces?

So I sing in my cave,

as loud as can be,

But I’m afraid to their ears

it’s not quite the same,

For some faint

and some scream

and some dare demand

to know ‘this beast’s name!’

I grin my toothy grin

as their fires go out,

As they flee

like a mad, dashing throng,

They’ve luck I’ve no taste

for toadies with gout—

I just want to finish my song!