His roaming long diminished by the toil of man,
Bloody Black Shuck had laid forgotten, muddied in the ditches.
Long gone were the chases drawn by torch and led by faith,
His company of imps and faeries lost, no magik to hold him.
The dog feasted on flesh but truly nourished by fear and hate,
And now awoken and hungry, he scrambles up the bank.
A familiar mist hangs above the flat land under silver moon,
But then all in amber light and metallic sound is strange.
The hound does not cower, and except for shadow is not seen,
Treading with poisoned purpose, but with elegance malice walked.
With each step his ribs diminished as he fattened on despair,
Except for lust no need to kill tonight, satisfied by anger.
Sat beneath the bridge, his belly stretched by anguish of souls,
Coat black as jet, with eyes and teeth of platinum flash.
He had not feasted like this for a hundred years but now bloated,
Black Shuck was home; he stretched turned and melted as night left.