she looks in the mirror, her hair still unmade
she ties it up tightly, not a strand strayed
Little Red and her cute little braid.
she looks through her closet with a frown on her face,
seeking an outfit at a hurried pace,
Riding Hood and her gown etched in lace.
she removes her cloak from the hook on the door,
pulls the hood over – satisfied once more,
What is dear Little Red all dressed up for?
the sun’s shining bright and the sky a dull gray,
she walks with her basket and out on her way,
Little Red Riding Hood perfect as prey.