The Changeling Kyrielle

I hide my growlings, curb my prowls, Leave my fur jacket in the hall, And with the dinner party blend I am not civilised at all. My claws are curving, pearly white, So when the roast's thin slices fall, The dripping blood is my delight I am not civilised at all. I must not snarl or show my teeth. Such savage manners would appal. I must affect a simple smile. I am not civilised at all. When the high Moon is in its place, And Shadow slithers like a pall, A thousand packs howl in my heart, I am not civilised at all. My ears like shells, fill with the sound Of whirring wing and foxes' call. The wild, the wet is my delight, I am not civilised at all. Then I peel off my human face, Slink from the house and leap the wall, To join the runners in the night, I am not civilised at all.