Not a werewolf, not a creature of fright,
Her hair is perfect, her spirit untamed,
In the heart of the wilderness, she’s named,
a delivery girl, in the cover of the night.
In the twilight, she comes to call,
Wyfwolf, with her secrets, recipes rare,
Neither wholly wolf nor woman fair,
Through streets of SoHo, as the rains fall.
With Chinese deliveries as her chore,
She’ll make Lee Ho Fooks proud,
on her bike, in the rain, hidden in the crowd,
hot on delivery, not a minute more,
Hushed tones speak of her elusive grace,
“Wyfwolf”, they murmur, in hushed tones low,
In hidden alcoves, where whispers flow,
“Stay away,” they warn, from her quiet space,
The delivery girl, with piña colada in hand,
A refuge sought, from the world’s harsh din.
“Keep her out,” they warn, from hearth and kin,
She defies the labels, she defies the bland.
Latibulate in shadows, she’ll fade and flee,
she’ll wander, where moonlight’s faint,
Piña colada, she’ll sip, untouched by taint.
A fusion of fang and grace, wild and free.
So heed the whispers, and of these beware,
the Wyfwolf, when in her hidden place,
is a secret keeper, in silent embrace,
as she walks with the Queen, in the twilight’s lair.
In the heart of the wilderness, her sanctuary found,
Around kitchen doors, her howls will soar,
Seeking solace ‘midst ancient trees’ lore,
Guardian of twilight’s realm, forever bound.

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