Tails in the Wood

Many forms have I assumed, before this form you see:
a bird, a stone, a wolf, a bone, which one will you perceive?
Awhile I wandered, furred and fanged, through Birch and Ashe and Oak,
until a maiden’s scent I took, and to her scent I spoke.

Ebon hair, midnight eyes, breasts as pale as dawn,
bathing sky-clad in a stream, and bathing quite alone.
There, a hanging hooded robe, adorning yonder tree,
Padded paws creep out of sight and creep most carefully

Nails imprint the mossy bed, silence my surest tool,
between my teeth I take her robe, I adore the taste of wool!
A churl? I chew! Saliva slews, her flesh I’ve yet to savor,
a ray ignites her navel’s nape, perhaps I’ll press her favor.

What’s this? A hunter’s scent is smeared by softly blowing breeze.
Into the light of day he steps. In shadows thick, I freeze.
A bow of Yew, a grey goose shaft, he’d surely spend with skill.
If I should draw his eye my way, my intent he’d surely still.

But Venus draws his gaze to hers by rising from her pool,
revealing all her charms to him, whilst I must play the fool.
Alas, the dapple takes me in, for I must skulk away,
but a new red robe she’ll have to stitch, and bathe some other day.

SS Matthews

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