Garroway is a were-dingo. This is to say, he used to be a normal dingo, with a mate, a section of territory, pups, and the job of helping raise them. One night, something attacked and bit him. The next full moon, the poor feral dog found himself a man. He now tends to stay in a hybrid, or anthro form. Once, when asked about his origins, he responded with this. As a poem, here, it lacks a title, I only called it Garroway's Song to have something to call it. Any suggestions?

And round-a-bout the wilder ways,
I did travel in wilder days.
Walk the path in widdershins,
but doesil pad it back again.
Stars above and sun below,
dancing light and graceful show.

Music of a simpler kind,
echoing a simpler time.
Newer voices in the night,
flickering in fireheights.
Something larger moves by here,
change is wrought and price is dear.

Oh what terror, what wonder this?
Lost and found with a howling kiss.
Stolen life, yet given gift --
a beginning, ending, sund'ring shift.
Dance for travel, sing for thought,
forget the past and dullness fought.

New sights, new sounds, new things to see,
and all because this changed in me.
To speak, to learn and understand...
the gift of man, the gift of man.

© 2000 kazanthi@hotmail.com
1