a TeDdy bEaR's PiCNic

Are all the woods dark? she
asks
Only the best ones ...
Only the fetid ones heavy with
tasks, I say

What tasks, she asks, could a
woods need to do?...you are
so silly Nana, trees can't think
see or move!
We ponder the snake limbs
All dressed in dank mould
We sniff at the leaf breath
which sour's the cold
We tremble as giants poke
toes through the soil, and
all...
All is witch with a pot on the
boil

Everything creaking... all
groaning and bad
She moves in my shadow
Unbold, scared and sad
What is its task then? she
stutters in fear...the black 
dark descending...
The dark black... too near...
It murders the light I scream

wE RuN ....

M P 12/4/21