Tula Baba (a poem)

‘Tread softly, dear child,’ the whispering

woods send out a grave warning.

Footsteps falter, seeking the path

that once seemed so clear.

 

Where are the breadcrumbs?

No more, no more.

The birds are full but the child is lost.

Tula baba, tula tula.

 

Around and around the same old tree.

Each time it seems new and hope is born,

but the wicked witch is waiting

with a wide friendly grin.

 

Have some cake! You’ll feel better, I swear.

Have more, have more.

The birds are hungry but the child is still lost.

Tula baba, tula tula.

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