The First Taste

Through the trees, on gloomy nights,

I see a red cloak flit

Surrounded by all ghastly sights,

Without her lantern lit.

I see her skin, as white as snow,

And eyes like ravens’ wings,

With ruby lips like Cupid’s bow

—She purses them and sings.

She is my angel, small and chaste,

Pure, like her white dress.

And what I’d give for just a taste,

She can’t begin to guess.

So slowly, I walk to her,

A smile on my face,

And when her feet begin to stir,

So I begin my chase.

Her cries are the like of sirens’,

Calling me ever on,

So through the woods I follow,

‘Til near the light of dawn.

She disappears at daybreak,

Into a dark, black cave.

And I am glad to finally take,

Of what the forest gave.

Inside she turns, stopped in her tracks

Then I regret my sin.

For with tiny teeth as sharp as tacks,

She sets into my skin.

I try to escape through my pain.

She shows her teeth with glee,

And with her voice as soft as rain,

She, laughing, says to me:

You made no mistake in thinking

That I was pure and chaste,

But what made you think for an instant,

That you’d be the first to taste?

I once met a man in the moonlight,

A wolf he was called, in a lie.

And if truth be told, it was his bite

That made my mortality die.

And as I die, she smiles,

My blood red on her lips,

A pool of blood beside her,

And a cup at which she sips.

And as I die, I gather,

Her cloak’s not dyed; it’s stained,

How many died, I wonder,

And what of the blood that was drained?

The world begins to turn grey

The edges of it blur,

I feel myself start to decay,

And all I see is her.

I see her skin, as white as snow,

Her dress bloodstained white lace,

Her ruby lips like Cupid’s bow,

A smile on her face.

She is a fiend, a heartless beast,

With eyes like ravens’ wings.

I hear the smile in her voice,

As she softly sings,

Goodnight, my lonely traveler,

Be sure that you dream well,

Because I’m sure I’ve heard it said,

There are no dreams in Hell.

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