LITTLE WHITE RIDING HOOD
As the first sun rays of the day shined upon my leaves,
I awoke blithely from my slumber
to a white hooded figure
pacing through the pastures.
As her beauty and grace beamed across the fields,
Her billowy-soft voice fluttered in my ears.
She stopped along my feet,
my steady roots a temporary seat,
in hand, her basket and white cotton sheet.
Rest for now my dear,
For your destination is far from near.
The road, is bleak and never quite clear,
for sinful figures lurk around here
and suddenly they shall appear.
Soon, and if not careful,
greed and poison shall unfold:
a wolf, of charming words but of spirit cold,
you’ve yet to know the violence he holds:
thy evil creature shows no affinity,
hungry for chastity,
thirsty for purity.
Keep your courage near,
distant but not austere,
for prudence my dear,
prevails above fear.
Alas darkness reigns,
I feel her weight slowly wane.
Her voice, once harmonious decay,
now taut and strained.
I struggled to scream,
but struggled in vain.
Deaf to my warnings,
anticipating my mourning.
I called upon my old friend the wind.
But his gust was far too faint as well.
She did not foresee the coming hell.
As the depth of the woods swallow her whole,
I see her cotton coat once as white and pure as her soul:
contaminated, coarse,
and now reddened by the spills from her fall.