Around a thousand years ago
before the first man’s rise,
I chanced upon a trickster fox
that promised me the nighttime skies.

It led me to an empty field,
its tail curled ‘round my wrist,
“A simple trade,” it said to me,
“None but the foolish would resist.”

“Look up,” whispered the fox to me,
“I offer you no lies.”
Above me sat a naked moon
laid bare before my doubting eyes.

“I’ve none to give,” I did reply,
grown teary at the thought,
“I am poor and penniless, you see,
and can offer you naught.”

“No need for tears,” came the response,
“’Tis but a simple thing.
All I require is your heart
dear girl, a simple offering.”

“I can’t,” said I reluctantly,
“It is not mine to give.
Perhaps, for such a large reward,
my lover might forgive?”

“That’s right,” the fox said, growing bold,
a rumble in his chest,
“All you need do is lay down here,
be still and I shall do the rest.”

And so lay I down in that field
and closed my eyes in wait,
expecting but a gentle kiss
to lead me to my fate.

When suddenly he sprung at me,
eyes glowing and teeth bared.
In absence of his charming grin
I felt myself grow cold and scared.

He ripped and clawed right through my screams
and tore my body apart,
discarded then the broken frame
and bit into the bloodied heart.

“Foolish girl,” said then the fox,
its fangs bared in a growl.
Above, the moon lay cold and bare
unshaken by the fox’s howl.