Though the poems of the past seem to lack clarity of what I am
I know what I am and there’s no doubt about that
But I need to be cunning like the prowling cat
A predator of the night, stalking innocents from the light
I cannot deny my nature, yet this human world I am doomed to venture
I will hold my secrets close to my chest; I will not speak too much, well, only in jest
What I’ll learn soon enough, won’t shock me, scare me at all my dear
For I’ve been told of what I am, by a faithful friend who I call Sam
