What nestled thus against thorns,
Of movement who can see,
Where sleeps the wonder never warmed,
What creeps beneath thy tree?
Hush! And listen to its breath,
Of none she seems to hear.
Could be the stillness of the wind,
That bleeds her unfound fear.
Do tell her friend he needs to know,
What thought you may hold dear,
If you're friend or maybe foe,
For now the night draws near.
Is that you noise, a stabbing crunch,
Of food they've been forbidden?
Who biteth thus the apple red,
So sure and full of evil?
Now gathered 'round the hollow loomed,
The creature of the wood,
To scrapple, talk and rapple of,
The things that never shall.
What nestled thus against the thorns,
Whose presence ill and tense?
A cretin sinned now time is turn,
She sheds the skin of innocents.