The girl screams wolf,

And we all arrive,

To find no dog but her reprise.

She lazily asks for a cup of tea,

Ungrateful in our company.

So we turn away to our own lives,

Warning her not to spout lies.

A few minutes later, again she shouts,

And once more, we come asking what about.

A fly landed in her cup,

But no, not her would flick it out

With weary fingers of texting.

So flick we may, though much vexing.

The cycle continued on and on,

And each request darkened the dawn.

Through miscellaneous trivialities and tricks,

The wolffish girl made many nicks.

Until all but one - who loved her still,

Came to inquire of her shrill.

Once more she complained of the sky,

Having the gall to pass her by.

The final one shook her head,

Saying: When the wolf comes you'll be dead.