Not so very long ago and not so far away;
Lived a story years - one hundred and a day.
Once upon a time the beginning always came;
Without a guarantee that the end would be the same.
As bad as it could ever be and worse than every should.
When we walk hold tight my hand for both your sake and mine;
As dangers up ahead have no track of space or time.
The wolf that killed the riding hood and made her blood run red;
Is lurking up around the bend, evil thoughts are in his head.
Beyond the tree, behind the brush unnoticed with the eye;
A piece of something lying there a thing that had to die.
Poison lure an apple core lay at the maiden’s side.
Seven frightened face scatter, crouch and hide.
The briar patch lies still untouched because of how it feels;
Or maybe for no reason, ‘cep the way the rabbit squeals.
The spoon ran away and was stabbed by the knife though differ may the rhyme;
And Peter sure did keep his wife, but killed her in good time.
Mary, Mary quite contrary, don’t you ever learn?
The more you play with matches the hotter grows the burn.
The fairytales within these woods are worse then ever dreamed.
Not one story simply told for everyone is schemed.
July 30, 1992
