Woodland Cretin Poem by Wesley Mincin

Woodland Cretin

In the forest lurks the pixie
Playing with her may be too risky
Consequence, enslavement of thee
Watch the shadows dance

Creatures flee her hilarity,
a sound we hear with clarity,
a sound that is no rarity.
Watch them as they prance

Shadows garner. Winds assemble.
Her crystal voice makes phantoms tremble.
Bark falls off revealing symbols.
The trees begin to glare

Her games are not like yours or mine
She’ll disappear within the pine,
then tie you up with whip like vines,
and drag you to her lair.

To you it’s torture. To her it’s game.
To her the words are both the same.
She feels no pity. She feels no shame.
A sadistic little cretin

She may not kill you. Play is rare.
She’s glad she caught you in her snare.
And though the game is not so fair…
at least you won’t be eaten.