A beast of claws and whispers
In the forest waited there,
And reached its jaws to kiss her
And it grasped her golden hair.
Yet it was a thing of fearing,
But a shaded whisperer.
It was only willows, leering:
And it was no match for her.
Short little nursery rhyme: most monsters are imaginary, just shadows under the trees. And they are no match for us.