In a small village of Cotswold stone

Where family crests on flags are flown

Over doors of ancient oaken wood

Surrounded by climbing roses in bud

Once happened the below caper

That I swore I’d put to paper

To my knowledge all is true fact

Still painful on paper to re-enact

The hushed whisper had spread

Creature loose of legendary dread

Slowly it ambled down the track

Full moon reflected silver off its back

Thick coat shone in lunar light

Children hid in fearful fright

All candles blown to show no flame

In every house it was the same.

Little babes cuddled to breast on knee

Mothers in rigid fear too scared to flee

For the myth was real and here was proof

Distinctive sound of cloven hoof

Too scared to look for it was said

Eye contact would drop you stone-cold dead

Steam shoots from fire-flared nostril

Legend says breath will instantly kill

Slitted eyes of granite glint

Shaded a colour of soulless flint

Sits a stare to curdle blood

Turning tears to putrefied mud

But the people were misled of Upton-Stoat

Legend was the escape of Fr. James’ goat