The Ballad of Muffet’s Tree

Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet,
eating her curds and whey.
Along came a spider and sat down beside her,
but really had nothing to say.

So Muffet got spooked at how Spidey looked,
and wiped out while running away.
She slipped in the grass and fell on her ass,
where the donkey stood braying in play.

But the donkey, it kicked — with a crack, not a flick 
and Muffet’s lights dimmed on the ground.
The spider just watched with eight gleaming eyes,
and silently wrapped her around.

The spider spun threads as black as regret,
round Muffet’s cold, broken frame.
The donkey, now still, stared down the hill,
unnerved by the grim little game.

Night settled in; the moon gave a grin,
as shadows came out to play.
The web shimmered bright in pale silver light,
a tomb where young Muffet now lay.

By dawn, only whispers, no spider, no beast,
just a tuffet stained dark in the dew.
And the village folks say if you sit there today,
the spider might come for you.

A raven sat by and cawed with a sigh

at Muffet’s tomfoolery.

Though it saw nothing more, the event was a bore,

and it flew and it sat in a tree.

But the tree wasn’t bare — no, something lurked there,

with branches like fingers of bone.

The raven soon learned as the cold shadows turned,

it should never have flown there alone.

A whisper, a crack, a claw at its back,

the raven gave one final cry.

Now the tree stands tall, with no leaves at all,

just feathers where birds came to die.

Never more did a raven fly near,

nor did one appear on the deathly branches and boughs.

Now the tree waits for cows or wandering sows,

to stumble beneath its cold boughs.

For beasts that may stray, where shadows stay

find roots that twist and snare.

With a creak and a groan, they’re pulled to the bone,

and vanish like mist in the air.

The villagers know, but they whisper it low:

“Stay clear when the dusk starts to fall.”

For the tree, once fed, will hunger again —

and one day, it might come for them all.

So learn from young Muffet and beware the carnivorous bark.

For if you dare venture by… it will seize you come dark.

With roots that will tighten, with branches that bite,

you’ll be swallowed by shadow, gone by the night.

And the tree will stand silent, its hunger appeased,

until moonlight returns — and it’s ready to feed.

The Mouse and the Clock

Hickory dickory dock,
three mice ran up the clock.
The clock struck two, they died — but phew,
the last one escaped in shock.

But the gears kept turning, the pendulum swung,
and the last little mouse still heard its song.

For the clock was hungry, not nearly done —
and midnight strikes when there’s only one.

The mouse ran fast, but time runs true —
and no one escapes when the chimes come due.

The mouse ran fast, but time runs true —
and no one escapes when the chimes come due.

Tick tock, the time flew,
and the little mouse knew
that its moments were numbered and few.
But the sly little lad saw things go so bad
that it sprouted some wings and it flew.

Yet the clock on the wall wasn’t fooled at all,
its gears ground a whispering tune:
“You can fly, little pest, but I never rest —
and I’ll catch you come next full moon.”

While a clock it did thwart,
thinking he was so smart,
the little mouse stayed away and it hid.
But time can’t be cheated,
and a payment was needed…
so the clock found the mouse’s own kid.

The chimes rang twelve, a cold final knell,
and the old mouse wept in the dark.
For no matter how far, how clever you are,
time always will leave its mark.

With a wise, heavy heart,
the old mouse was smart.
But its offspring did not fare as well.

What good is the wisdom,
in a dark, lonely kingdom,
when one has a personal hell?

For the ticking persists,
through the cracks and the mists,
and no wisdom can turn back the chime.
In the end, all mice learn,
as the hands ever turn,
that no one outlasts old Time.

Mother Hubbard and the Dog

Old Mother Hubbard, went to the cupboard
to fetch her poor dog a bone;
but when she got there, the cupboard was bare,
and so the poor dog had none.

But the dog, it was clever, and starve it did never,
for it hunted for food on its own.
Small rodents and rats, foxes and cats,
filled its tummy so it wouldn’t moan.

Yet hunger grew deep, and it stalked in her sleep,
with eyes like two glinting stones.
Old Mother awoke, felt a sharp little poke —
and the dog… was no longer alone.

The mother was scared, seeing teeth bared,
and she panicked and ran off in fear.
But the dog, he did stalk, with a menacing walk,
and he tracked her into the woods near.