When a Path Isn't a Path

He could hear the spines of leaves

Snapping with every step he took

Their Autumn crisp crunching cries

A choir for the whispering wind

The tall trees all surrounding

The brave and resolute little boy

Their far reaching finger tips

Swaying back towards the way he had come

He took one more step further

Then questioned his direction, his arc

The cave stood huge before him

Its quavering maw moaning a plea

Moisture snaked along its tongue

The rough pebbled path drew him nearer

Yes, closer, Yes, come closer

Dulcet deploring, beckoning forth

His silent mind moved forward

As he was conveyed onward himself

Pebbles, like slathered taste buds

Shifting, dispersed with every step

Then panic

Retreat

A trap

A trap

Too late

It gobbled

Him up

With a snap