One night a Were-wolf slipped away
From his Were-wife and his Were-wolf child,
To the grave of a rotten schoolmaster
To decline himself as noun-beguiled.

Ghost-like gray the schoolmaster rose
From out of the gravestone's head,
And spoke to the Wolf, crossed paws suppose
To beseech a philologist long dead:

"The Were-wolf," spoke the spirited man,
"Of the Were-wolf, in the genitive penned,
To the Were-wolf, is the dative scan,
And objective, a Were-wolf; that's the end."

Such cases flattered the wolf called Were,
Its Were-wolf eyeballs rolling widely wide.
"However tense, all remains a blur;
What's singular? What's plural?" he cried.

Alas the corrupted schoolmaster confessed
"Incorruptible are most grammatical rules.
While wolves is plural, as you've guessed,
Wolf is singular, in most of our grammar schools."

With this, the Were-wolf howled and cried,
"I am not singular! I've a wife and child!"
And so the Were-wolf rushed home to bride
And Were-wolf child, tensely reconciled.