Monday morning, cooking, and sweeping,    

Decorating the house, it must be perfect.   

For my house must be the best in the forest.    

 

There is a munching, oh I hear a crunching.    

What is that, I hate to suspect.    

 

What is that? Could it be a rat?      

Not a rat, a rat cannot be of that stature   

It is to tremendous, oh what could it be?   

 

“Hey, that is my house, you, you…foul beasts”   

 

The creatures turn, they stare at me, in my eyes   

They’re small they don’t wear a coat   

their eyes are big their face is gaunt.  

 

I raise a hand, finger pointed “Who are YOU!”   

Fear struck in their eyes.   

Worried they may run I tell ‘em “Get inside!”    

 

Quivering in the corner, these things look sick 

My heart begins to ache,  

I shouldn’t hurt these creatures   

 

FOOD, food they must need, for they are young   

I give these things candy, the best I can get  

They whimper when I near. 

 

It is hard to see, harder than before. 

These creatures have yet to understand   

It is seemingly that they have yet to grow   

 

Still tiny and frail 

I must bake them a roast!

“We are going to have a tasty toasty thing today!”

They screeched and ran. 

They blurred, for I can not see them

I soar, 

Flying,

into the flaming oven

It should be burning but it doesn’t

 

The creatures run, lock me away. 

Those scrawny creatures WON’T LAST A DAY!