She’s perched upon the splintering seat, [I]swaying up and down and up, down.[/I] Pasta curls and apple cheeks bright, [I]soft skin draped in the scarlet-poppy gown.[/I]

Pretty little angel, [I]darling little sweet,[/I] Honey, what’s your name?

No one ever comes to play, [I]Not a soul after three.[/I] The crone and her gnarly smile, [I]are enough to have them flee.[/I]

Dear lovely princess, [I]Why won’t you reply?[/I] I’ve seen you before, Really I have - [I]Of that I wouldn’t lie.[/I]

The doe gaze is enchanting, [I]a little girl’s childish charm[/i] But the park is empty, [I]to the older woman’s alarm.[/I]

There was a child, and herself [I]that much she could swear.[/I] But now the wooden swing is empty, [I]no trace of honey-cream hair.[/I]

There’s a woman and her demons, A lady all alone. In the park on a Saturday night, The land that she calls home.

Feedback? What do you read out of this...thing?