I am watching you, little child,
Walking through my woods.
Your eyes are filled with wonder
At the things before them.
The damp moss on the roots of the old oak.
That very old oak, a close friend of mine.
You see the gossamer threads jeweled with raindrops.
I whispered to the spider to design such a web.
Your eyes sparkle at the small ring of mushrooms.
You approach them eagerly.
You still don’t see me.
Didn’t they tell you stories, little child,
Of what lives in woods such as these?
Didn’t mama and papa warn you of the witches
the ghosts, the wolves,
the faeries?
No matter.
You have stepped into my ring of mushrooms.
Now you are mine.
And I’m very hungry.