When a Path Isn't a Path

He could hear the spines of leaves 
Snapping with every step he took 
Their Autumn crisp crunching cries 
A choir for the whispering wind 
The tall trees all surrounding 
The brave and resolute little boy 
Their far reaching finger tips 
Swaying back towards the way he had come 
He took one more step further 
Then questioned his direction, his arc 
The cave stood huge before him 
Its quavering maw moaning a plea 
Moisture snaked along its tongue 
The rough pebbled path drew him nearer 
Yes, closer, Yes, come closer 
Dulcet deploring, beckoning forth 
His silent mind moved forward 
As he was conveyed onward himself 
Pebbles, like slathered taste buds 
Shifting, dispersed with every step 
Then panic 
Retreat 
A trap 
A trap 
Too late 
It gobbled 
Him up 
With a snap 
thumb|center|335 px|Narrated by EuclidClassDunmer
Category:Poetry
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