Oh, you, embroiderer of facts,
Perverter of truths,
Must you besmirch the name of such a majestic beast?
In a more perfect world you might be christened a less perfect animal,
Or perhaps I am wrong.
Perhaps you have earned your namesake.
Perhaps a fiery coat of amber suits you.
You have indeed the qualities of such a beast:
What other animal is master of trickery
Who else takes such foul intent and weaves such a tantalizing fable for men
And gets away with doing so?
You are indeed eloquent
For a silver tongue fits said description.
But still, I wonder at the many tending to your words!
Have you brought them under your spell, my nine-tailed friend?
Or perhaps they prefer the crow’s mantle
And delight in hearing your honeyed words?
One thing is certain though:
Once you start running,
As you so love to do from facts,
You can be sure I’ll be behind you,
For I hear hunting season starts soon.