Volume 2 Number 1 | MYTHOLOG | Winter 2003 |
The hungry little girl,
Dragging her ragged dolly
Across the open field,
Was all alone without her mommy.
She looked this way and that,
Wiped a forlorn tear,
And sang a plaintive lullaby.
In the brush
Two eyes watched,
Drinking up the sight.
Moving in low, breathing shallow,
With careful, slithering steps,
A streak of teeth and fur,
And the trap was sprung.
Not knowing the reason
For her smile
At just that last moment,
Or what it was to be
Finally wanted,
The very big, bad wolf
Hadn't stood a chance.