The wolf came down to dine:
That he was a wolf
We did not know
We did not see his real clothes;
Nor the teeth that bit the flesh in chunks
And devoured it, raw.

He drank the juices that came from there within
Like the bird that drank at dew
From the unsuspecting
A convenient prey,
Still, no one saw his true clothes.

His surreptitious glance.
His rapid eyes should have been the sign
Slick as wet soap
As sub rosa as a spy,
We knew not that he came down to dine
The wolf, whose real clothes we did not see.

The ignorant are never cautious
The uninformed offers morsels to brutes.

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A little about me and poetry

This poem is my submission to the School Poetry 100 Day Challenge hosted by @d-pend, whom I would like to thank for sponsoring this competition. He is indeed a godsend. Though a bit dubious, I would consider myself an intermediate writer of poetry. My first love is prose, so if you get a feel of something other than verse in my poetry that is why. I use poems to assist me when I have writer’s block. This strategy, however, seems to be morphing into something more serious. At least I think so.

Thanks for reading.

Poem by: @nicholas83

Date: 4/28/18

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