Little Red Riding Hood Poem by Boyan Deam

Once upon a sphere, where no time to touch was near.
Any lakes that should be crossed, she walked along the narrow roads.
She paces and waits, touching nothing that relates.
And while the trees are dead asleep the ones who hear are
wakes with
teeth.
As if a wolf can't follow red, blond hairs this animal's tastes fed.
A picnic gone wrong, fruit of the young one scattered along
heavy lid lones the eyes, hollow preys on no one's prize.
Bright moon told the story old green that had seen
where there's fruit then grows glory of a girl that had been.
So one.......tells the tale of many hearts, one scarred branch mid of darks
and stars all aligned...to tell this tale set the mood....that of
the Little Red Riding Hood.