Thursday, May 26, 2016


I hear that Little Red Riding-Hood
went at a gallop through the wood
on her pony, as if giving chase
to a chicken-thief fox, her heart a-race.
But with her was not one bloodhound,
for to her granny's cottage she was bound,
though the creature on her granny's bed
turned out to be a hairy wolf instead.
Her heart had raced because the moon
would be fully round so very soon,
and now it was racing far much more
finding a wolf-woman behind the door.
Granny was a werewolf as she was told.
The teeth were sharp, the eyes were bold,
the wolf-woman leapt at the child
who swung her axe, swung it wild,
and cut the beast with its silver blade.
Into a grave the granny-wolf was laid.

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