Her name was Jane
Her time was once.
Her bedtime wish
Was a splendid garment
Mother made.
Its value surpassing a shawl
For this was a full body wrap
Adorned with a hood.
Commodious cloak forever in red
Protective influence of wool
Pseudonym to guard this girlishness,
Exhilarate child with basket
Bountifully laden with food,
To leave home straight-pathed
But unguarded.
Her grandmother adored
Generational force to draw to her bedside
Irreversible appointment
The parents too trifle, not daring.
But what of this walk through
The woods – this conceit of innocence
Immaculate and good
Transfixed with unblemished soul
Her world like Mirandas
Concealing its Calibans
The emergence of evil in time.
Grandmother, loneliness leaves us,
Even our temperamental children
Remember us,
And the risk of a bedtime story
Plagues us
‘Til the forest vanquishes
The eternal wolf.
Ted Goodell
1968
(Original post December 2014, Re-post January 2019)
Is It Saturday or Sunday 