Is This Innocence?
A walrus in a trilby hat;
whiskers grand and grey.
A grizzled creature, short and fat,
limping on his way.
A haunting look about his eye,
and yellowed tusks of War,
tell tales of dead, and where they lie,
and all that went before.
A blooming rose in Wellington boots -
pink to match her coat -
laughs and giggles and squeals and hoots,
as he constricts her throat.
A clap. A growl. A smile. A wink.
To put her in his palm.
Easier than we all might think,
to shatter youthful charm.