Cornish folk still relate the tale
of midnight howling and dark shape prowling
through the mist upon Bodmin Moor,
and in the morning dead sheep scattered
drained of every drop of blood.
Full moon, dark moon, the moorland shepherds
they say kept watch over dwindling flocks,
yet failed to see what ripped out gizzards
with razor sharp teeth so blamed a beast
whose eyes flashed bright with ruby fire.
And legend has it the beast still stalks
in the drifting shadows, yet leaves a trail
of gigantic paw prints in rain-soaked soil.
Infamous, universally feared and yet the beast
only ever existed in the darkest recesses
of imagination's most sinister realm.