Riding Hood

A dash of red through the trees,
A fluttering of fabric.
The lone wolf wonders what
exactly it could be.

He runs through the forest
sniffs at the air
Grins and cries out,
and grabs her by the hair.

“I’ve got you little girl!
Don’t you dare run away.
If not your little grandma here
won’t see light of day”

He licks his wet chops,
and grandma disappears.
As grandma does,
so do all her fears.

The tree stump feels breezy,
from the axe missing from its side.
Several weeks later,
a little girl was spotted,
wearing a rather curious hide.

29/08/2013, penned 10.30am-ish as well. Morbid poems are thoroughly enjoyable to read through, no? ha.


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