Little red riding hood

The wind howls red

 

 

 

Fingers frozen, jacket tight, the merlot leaves taking flight

Foot steps long ,quick in pace, better hurry home, you are not alone

The wind howls red, the chill runs deep, you should be in bed, to Grandmas keep

The bramble cottage comes in sight, everyones sleeping, there is no light

You skip closer, just a little more, oblivious to the danger lurking beyond the door.

 
C.Grainger