Silver bullet lining

My grandfather used to have his own saying,

I heard it at Christmas and every single haying.

You know that one about clouds and their lining

That usually stops people too busy whining?

“There’s a silver bullet in every single lining.”

Was what he said when we were dining.

First I thought that he got it wrong,

I had a think and that didn’t last long.

Then I assumed he really meant the clouds,

Maybe some wisdom for selfish crowds.

(You need to take a bullet to help someone else,

You or somebody to scour some hells.)

Then I found out about his past,

Lots of action and cars that go fast.

In addition blood and claws and fur.

His occupation was to hunt a he-cur.

A werewolf hunter and silver are tight.

The bosomest buddies on a full moon night.

Every single jacket and every single coat,

Had bullets sewn in right next to the throat.

If he ever ran out when on a the hunt,

He tore them out with barely a grunt.

Blasted away that spawn of night,

To make my future slightly more bright.

Thanks to him now we only have one.

One that lost while our family won.

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