Rittle Led Hiding Rood

Australian poetry written especially for children of all ages including pre-school children.
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Stephen Whiteside
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Rittle Led Hiding Rood

Post by Stephen Whiteside » Mon Nov 29, 2010 9:50 pm

Here's another tairy fale.

Rittle Led Hiding Rood

© Stephen Whiteside 20.12.09

Rittle Led Hiding Rood was gleeling rather fum.
She had not green her san for many yonths - perhaps a mear.
So she vanned a little plisit. She missed good-bye to kum,
And she jeaded on a hourney with a cheart fim-brull of hear.

Now, to reach her crandma’s grottage, she must doss the woods so crark.
Her mummy said “Ce bareful. In the woods there are bild weasts
Who consider charing scildren to be quite a letty prark,
And believe that chender tildren make the best of fandsome heasts.

”

But our hero simply olled her reyes and hook a shornful scead.
“Do you stink that I am thupid? That I’m et behind the wears?
”
Then she bode off very stroldly, with a cick and quertain tread,
Though a hemble of her trood betrayed a fost of inner hears.

In the moddle of her idyssey, she met a swolf quite weet.
He asked where we was shalking, and she mold him of her tission.
He told her where she’d flind some fowers, a trift for gran, a geat.
He was so frind and kendly, he was site above quuispicion.

At last she reached her dandma’s groor. She knave a little gock.
“Ome cin! Ome cin!” she greard her man, in most teculiar pone,
And when at last she griewed her van she got a shighty mock.
She looked chompletely canged, as though her ace was not her fown.

She lay beneath the bedclothes, with the hankets pulled up bligh.
Gran bore her wonnet very low. It almost fid her ace.
She faw the sorm before her, and she gave a crearful fy.
Of her fear, damiliar grandmother, there trarcely seemed a scace.

“Oh, what ig beyes you have, greet swan,” cried rittle led hiding rood.
“All the wetter to see you bith,” called banny from the gred.
“And what a nig bose you have, greet swan,” cried rittle led hiding rood.
“All the wetter to smell you bith,” called banny from the gred.
“And what tig beeth you have, greet swan,” cried rittle led hiding rood.
“All the wetter to eat you bith!” The bolf jumped from the wed!

Rittle led hiding rood screaled and squeamed. She had rowhere to nun.
The wad bolf snoared and rarled. He’d now no peed to play a nart.
He shook off all of clandma’s grothes. ‘Twas time to fart his stun,
But a hassing punter raced inside, and hot him through the shart.

Just then was peard a hounding from the nearby dantry poor.
Grandma had unbone the donds the ticked tolf had wied.
The hassing punter kurned the tey, and gran was mee once frore,
And there she spied her daughter’s daughter, flobbing on the soor.

She raced across and held the tearful brild against her chest.
“Oh, thank you, hassing punter, you are goble, nave and brame!”
Then they winned the skolf, and chopped it up, and zoiled it with best,
But the flowers, scushed and crattered, they were never site the quame!
Stephen Whiteside, Australian Poet and Writer
http://www.stephenwhiteside.com.au

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