A girl, small hands clutching a basket,
walks a path of sun-dappled green.
Red, a vibrant splash against the woods,
her cloak, a promise of protection, a beacon.
Her mother's words, a gentle reminder,
"Go straight to Grandma's house, my dear.
Stay on the path, don't linger, don't stray."
A simple task, a daughter's duty.
The forest breathes around her, alive.
Birdsong weaves through the rustling leaves,
a symphony of the wild, unnoticed,
as a shadow falls, elongated, watchful.
The wolf appears, a creature of instinct,
eyes like burning embers in the dim light.
He asks of her destination, a casual query,
a honeyed voice masking a hunger deep within.
He learns of Grandma, weak and ailing,
her cottage nestled at the forest's edge.
A wicked thought blooms in his feral mind,
a shortcut devised, a deception planned.
He races ahead, paws silent on the earth,
arriving at the cottage, uninvited, grim.
He knocks, a mimicry of politeness,
then devours the old woman whole, without a pause.
He dons her clothes, a grotesque disguise,
climbs into her bed, a monster lurking.
He waits, patient and ravenous,
for the unsuspecting girl, her innocent arrival.
Red Riding Hood arrives, hesitant knock,
"Grandma, it's me," she calls, her voice sweet.
The wolf, in falsetto, bids her enter,
a cruel charade, a deadly trap.
She steps inside, the air thick with unease.
"Grandma," she says, noting the altered form.
"What big ears you have," she remarks, naive.
"All the better to hear you with," the wolf replies.
The questions continue, each more alarming.
"What big eyes you have," she notes, afraid.
"All the better to see you with," the wolf replies,
his patience thinning, the game almost done.
"What big teeth you have," she whispers, trembling.
The wolf throws back the covers, revealing himself.
"All the better to eat you with!" he roars,
and swallows her whole, in one terrifying gulp.
The woodsman comes, axe heavy on his shoulder.
He hears the wolf's loud snores, unusual, deep.
He enters the cottage, suspicion guiding him,
and finds the wolf asleep, his belly unnaturally round.
He knows the truth, the horror of the scene.
He cuts open the wolf's belly, careful and quick.
First Grandma emerges, then Red Riding Hood,
both alive, shaken, but free from the beast's dark hold.
They fill the wolf's belly with heavy stones,
sewing him up tight, a weighted punishment.
The wolf awakens, thirsty and confused,
stumbles to the well, and falls, dragged down by the rocks.
He drowns, the threat extinguished, forever stilled.
Red Riding Hood, hand in hand with Grandma,
learns a harsh lesson, a vital warning.
The woods are beautiful, but danger lurks within.
Trust cautiously. Follow the path. Remember.
