Read: The Werewolf Epic

The Addition:

a creaking limb. He holds his hunt, the deer,
upon his back, the weight growing as time
his march leads on into the wayward night.

The meat upon his back, burden increased
since he began his march, he eases down
onto the forest floor. Squatting to place
it there, the shrubs and ferns about him rise.
So he from sight, in foliage, is hid.
Anon, alerts the hunter’s gentle ear
a creaking hinge turning; and from the door,
the grandmother’s cottage, issues the girl,
red riding hood, but shoulders bare, her cape
absent, she looks not like herself. Naked,
it seems without that crimson cloak or hood.
Into the darkness of the night she struts.
And hidden there the woodsman watches on.