Sweet little myth of the nursery story -- Earliest love of mine infantile breast, Be something tangible, bloom in thy glory Into existence, as thou art addressed!
Hasten! appear to me, guileless and good -- Thou are so dear to me, Red Riding-Hood!
Azure-blue eyes, in a marvel of wonder, Over the dawn of a blush breaking out; Sensitive nose, with a little smile under Trying to hide in a blossoming pout -- Couldn't be serious, try as you would, Little mysterious Red Riding-Hood!
Hah! little girl, it is desolate, lonely, Out in this gloomy old forest of Life! -- Here are not pansies and buttercups only -- Brambles and briers as keen as a knife; And a Heart, ravenous, trails in the wood For the meal have he must, -- Red Riding-Hood!
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