Her voice was hoarse from crying out, “A wolf's amongst the herd!” But townsfolk didn't merely doubt, They’d mock her every word, Point at his woolen back and shout, “A sheep! Now rest assured,” Ignoring both his teeth and snout, And how his wool's procured. The next morn came, the herd was thin, The grass donned blood-stained fleece. And red dripped down his lips and chin, Belly swollen from his feast. Before she cried, townsfolk swarmed in, All pointing at the beast, “Look at that plump abdomen! You see, he's just a sheep!” Thoughts filled the shepherd's mind, And then they'd start to brim, As at each hour she would find Black figures looking grim. From windows, which they stood behind, The townsfolk stared at him. She saw their lips all mouth the line, “Please tear them limb from limb.” He soon was mascot of the town. The shepherd's post was shed. From the hills, the rest came down; The pack which he had led. From limb to limb the lambs were ground. At least some sheep had fled. But not the people of the town, The townsfolk are all dead.