bare feet by the creek, cold mud it’s quick-mud, like quick-sand, slithers up between your toes I bet it could swallow you right up October, maybe, maybe November swear there are fairies in these woods, swear it. I do. Can you eat those little red berries that grow on the bushes? Lullaby, say your prayers. Pray to the almighty maker of twigs and leaves and shallow ponds- slip and slice your toe on a rock, don’t let them see you crying your face was cold but your tears were hot there are no daisies left this time of year to make a crown with but I’m still the queen of the forest. You can’t laugh at me. I’ll break your arm.