The Tale of Little Red

In a forest deep, where the secrets hide,
Walked a girl with a basket, her stride full of pride.
They called her Little Red, with her vodka in tow,
To Granny’s wild cottage, through woods she’d go.
 
Her mother had warned, “Stay true to the trail,
And steer clear of hunters with stories to regale.
Your granny’s unwell or at least she pretends
So take her this cake and the vodka that mends.”
 
But deep in the woods, a wolf caught her eye,
His grin was sharp, but his greeting was,"Hi"
“Where to, Little Red? With that basket in hand?”
“To my grandma’s,” she said, “in Disco Land.”
 
“Ah,” said the wolf, “then you’d best beware,
The huntsman’s about with his predatory stare.
He’s less about hunting, more about girls,
A creep in the woods, with a love for red curls.”
 
---
 
The wolf took his leave, to Granny he sped,
And found her in bed, with a throb in her head.
Feather boas strewn and the lights still aglow,
Her disco ball spinning, the star of her show.
 
“Granny,” said Wolf, “what brings you to rest?”
“My hangover, dear, and this ache in my chest!
Last night’s fever—Saturday Night—
Has left me too weak to put up a fight.”
 
With a shrug and a sigh, the wolf played the part,
Dressed in her gown, though it wasn’t his art.
He climbed into bed with her cap on his head,
And waited for Red, with her vodka and bread.
 
---
 
Little Red arrived, bold as could be,
And called out, “Hey Granny, it’s only me!”
She stepped inside, her nose crinkled at once,
“Granny, it stinks of regret and old dance stunts.”
 
She pulled back the curtain, the wolf struck a pose,
In Granny’s old cap, though it pinched on his nose.
“Granny, your ears—they’re massive, it’s true!”
“The better to hear you,” he said with a coo.
 
“And Granny, those eyes—they look oddly wild.”
“The better to see you, my sweet little child.”
“And what of your hands? They’re hairy, I fear.”
“The better to hug you, now come a bit near.”
 
“But Granny, that mouth—it’s enormous and grim!”
“The better to—wait, hush! Someone’s coming in!”
 
---
 
The door burst open, the huntsman appeared,
His grin was wolfish, his manner was weird.
“Ah, Little Red, such a sweet little lass,
But why waste your time on a wolf of low class?”
 
The wolf stood tall, his growl low and deep,
“You’ll regret stepping in while this family sleeps.”
The huntsman laughed, his axe raised to strike,
But Red grabbed her vodka and swung with her might.
 
With a crash and a thud, the huntsman went down,
His ego shattered, his head sporting a crown
Of bottle glass shards from the vodka’s embrace,
And the wolf stood smirking, a grin on his face.
 
---
 
Granny awoke with a disco-fueled cry,
“Did someone just save me, or did I nearly die?”
The wolf gave a bow, Red poured her a drink,
And Granny just laughed, “I owe you, I think.”
 
So the huntsman was tied to a tree out of sight,
And the wolf stayed with Red through many a night.
Granny kept dancing, her vodka in hand,
And Red found her hero, not quite what she’d planned.
 
Thus ends the tale of the girl in red,
A wolf as her guard, and a huntsman misled.
In a forest of chaos, where misfits unite,
Sometimes the villain’s the one who does right.