• To whom this small, forgotten meadow belongs to, I think I know.
    Although, long ago, he passed it on to me, now forever my own.
    I sighed happily as I leaned against my favorite tree,
    And propped my tome of poems upon my knee.

    There I sat, writing line after line after line,
    Leaning against my tree, pouring my heart into these acidic tears of mine.
    The poem had rendered me helpless and weak,
    Even though my emotion's strength and power was at it's peak.

    Up the tree, high as I could go, I hastily scrambled.
    Whether or not I fell was a chance I gambled.
    I began to near the summit,
    No sooner than I had, I began to plummet.

    Faintly, I heard myself calling,
    Crying out for my goddess to save me from falling.
    Pleaded I, "Dear Luna, please save me!"
    Pleaded I, "Dear Luna, Please save me!"