It was a cloak,

Not a hood,

And my sweets were

More than “good.”

 

And traversing the forest

All on my own?

Well it scared me, alright.

Down to my bones.

 

But you do what you have to

When Granny’s sick in bed,

So I fought off my nerves

And prayed she wasn’t dead.

 

The wolf? He was big

With claws and ears and eyes,

But what my story forgets

Is that he was really a spy.

 

See back in our town

There’s only one shop

With our secret recipe

The rest is just slop.

 

There were others around

That wanted the fame

And worse than all that

They were lacking in shame.

 

One bakery in particular

Was willing to play bad,

Mr. Wolf’s Sweets,

And boy was he mad.

 

It was unfair, he thought,

That we were so good,

Oh, why couldn’t he just

Understand where he stood?

 

So, Mr. Wolf ate up Granny

And would have eaten me, too,

If not for the woodsman,

I think he’s named Hugh.

 

He barged in asking for cookies,

I think,

Then saw what was wrong,

And killed Mr. Wolf in a blink.

 

Then I cut good ol’ Granny

Out of Mr. Wolf’s gut,

And she made me a new cloak

Out of that good for nothing mutt.