LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD
Never visit your dear old nan
Without a brave wood-cutting man,
For when she smiles and shows her teeth
You’ll find that sly old wolf beneath;
But your woodcutter he’ll protect you,
He’ll tear that mask off and will axe him,
He will not pause to even ask ‘im
What he’s doing in your nan’s nightie;
Transvestite wolves are most unsightly.
GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BEARS
Goldie trespassed in the Three Bear’s house,
Thinking “I’ll be quiet as a meadow mouse.”
She sampled all the porridge she found,
Then had a quiet snoop around.
Three chairs, three beds, she sampled all;
Soon fell asleep, curled up so small.
The bears returned, the baby bawled,
At all the damage they were appalled.
Goldie awoke, she screamed in pain,
And never saw those bears again.
Her father boasted to the king,
His daughter was so gifted
That she could spin the meanest straw
To make gold unassisted.
But this she clearly could not do,
Until a dwarf agreed
To help her if she’d give her word
Her baby to him to concede.
This she woefully had to do
To keep her father’s word.
So sad she was and out of sorts,
As the love within her stirred.
The only way to recover her child,
The dwarf then to her said,
Was to find out what his true name was,
Thus stem the tears she shed.
She travelled far, she travelled wide,
Seeking his name to find,
But every name she tried was wrong,
No one could ease her mind.
Until she heard a voice one night
Within a woodland glade.
“Rumplestiltskin, that I am”,
It sang while music played.
Indeed it was her little man,
Rejoicing in his glory,
To think that he had won his prize
And thus would end this story.
But he’d been rumbled in his pride;
Of justice – no miscarriage,
For she had got her baby back,
And the King’s rich hand in marriage.
Illustrations: By WHB . . . Pen & Ink – January 2018 ©