Monday, 16 July 2012

Mother knows best

Do not go down to the wild wild wood
With your hair so long and your sandals so red
It is better to remain in the bosom of home
With your sister your cat and your candlewicked bed
But if you should find that your footsteps have strayed
To the mossy old path 'neath the crowcawing oaks
Make sure that you speak to nobody at all
Especially a man be he never so small
For men in the woods are all friendly at first
And offer you treats and much laughter
But when they have snared you they hide you away
In some tumbledown shack in an unhallowed glade
To eke out your days as their daughter
Your hair is now matted and tangled with weeds
Your sandals are faded to grey
If only you'd listened to boring old Mum
You wouldn't be sleeping in clay

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