Old goatherds swear how all night long they hear <br />The warning whirr and burring of the bird <br />Who wakes with darkness and till dawn works hard <br />Vampiring dry of milk each great goat udder. <br />Moon full, moon dark, the chary dairy farmer <br />Dreams that his fattest cattle dwindle, fevered <br />By claw-cuts of the Goatsucker, alias Devil-bird, <br />Its eye, flashlit, a chip of ruby fire. <br /> <br />So fables say the Goatsucker moves, masked from men's sight <br />In an ebony air, on wings of witch cloth, <br />Well-named, ill-famed a knavish fly-by-night, <br />Yet it never milked any goat, nor dealt cow death <br />And shadows only--cave-mouth bristle beset-- <br />Cockchafers and the wan, green luna moth.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/goatsucker/
