Sonnet I

Alone in the darkest wood, sat my girl
and she would not nor could not decide how
to live life free of the snake's coiling curl,
an entwining entanglement somehow

ever present in all the world's little dangers.
But I said, "That means you must believe now"
and she said, "Mommy always talked to strangers."
Rigidly tiptoeing backwards through brown

eyed misgivings, ever ready to tear down
what was never built up, what was never
the story of a king clown wearing a frown.

The night knowingly hungers for her gown,
graceful in its attempt to down weather
her defenses defenseless, a lone town.